Heart and Stone
by harmoniedusoir
Summary: "A poet can have no higher purpose than to tell the truth about the human condition." Drawn to Mournhold under difficult circumstances, Llovesi discovers something quite dangerous may lie at this city's heart. How far will she have to go in the conflict between two indomitable forces? TES III: Tribunal adaptation - sequel to Fire and Ash. Main quest spoilers. Language and violence.
1. Prologue

**A/N and Disclaimer: Hey everybody! This is Heart and Stone, the sequel to Fire and Ash (if you haven't read that, I'd advise it, as spoilers abound/there's a lot of background in it). I should point out that I have made more significant changes to the main quest of Tribunal than I did to the main quest of Morrowind. Just pointing that out if it is/isn't your cup of tea. Updates will hopefully be bi-weekly. As before, in the event that fanfiction is ever down, the story can also be found at heartandstonefiction on blogspot. As always, I do not own The Elder Scrolls III: Tribunal (Bethesda Softworks does) and I do not own Julan Kaushibael (Kateri does). Llovesi is mine, and so is this interpretation of the story.**

* * *

_**Prologue**_

Sometimes, celebrity's star will fade. It grows ever dimmer on the horizon of popular consciousness until it slips quietly into the dark.

This is not the case if you are the apparent reincarnation of a long-dead war-hero.

For Llovesi, Nerevarine, Hortator, and Protector of Morrowind, this was the surprise–not the fame, but its longevity. It seemed that every where she went, even after all these months, people would fall at her feet asking for her blessing, and offering their thanks, until she longed for the solitude she had once known.

But it was too late.

Her long-lasting celebrity had brought many gifts, but it would reserve some surprises yet.

Someone always has their eye on the brightest stars.

Llovesi thought she'd seen it all. She'd seen nothing yet.

* * *

For important decisions, King Hlaalu Helseth disposed of a council of private advisors, none of whom he trusted but all of who could at least be counted on to give wise and informed decisions.

Their lives often counted on it.

But there were some decisions which he would only entrust to one man. Himself.

So King Helseth sat in his royal chamber, and he schemed.

At first he'd thought she might be a threat. Then months had gone by and–nothing. The destruction of the Heart of Lorkhan, now that had been a definitive act, an act sure to bring change. So why the long silence, after all these months?

He would have to force her hand.

And as for the other one... perhaps there _was_ a way to kill two birds with one stone.

Figuratively speaking of course.

King Helseth allowed himself a rare smile, lent over his desk, and set quill to parchment decisively.

There was a knock at the door. Karrod crossed to it and raised an eyebrow.

Helseth nodded, then settled his face into a neutral expression, and straightened up.

There was no point in even hiding the paper. To do so would look suspicious, and the only people with access to his chambers at this time were a few palace servants and...

Queen Barenziah came softy through the door and Karrod shut it behind her. She was not yet dressed for bed, still in her ornate green day dress, her long silver hair curly softly about her shoulders under her crown.

"Mother." Helseth stood to offer her his chair, but she waved him away with a slender hand.

"I won't occupy you long, my son."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this... late visit, then?"

Barenziah did not reply, instead striding over to the desk and gently moving Helseth's hand from the parchment.

"You are resolved in this matter?" she asked.

Helseth merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"Do not play coy with me, Helseth. You may be able to pull the wool over the eyes of your counsellors, and very well I might add, for this is not an admonition, but I am your mother."

She looked carefully into his eyes.

"You have been King only a few short months Helseth–"

"–And you believe my talent for scheming has lessened in that time?"

Barenziah sighed heavily.

"No," she said, after a time, "but you must realise that this plan has the potential for great destruction. Perhaps greater than we have ever seen."

Helseth laced his fingers together.

"I believe Morrowind is on the cusp of great change. I intend to be the one to lead it. Whether the change slips in, or whether there is a good deal of kicking and screaming remains to be seen. Change never goes down well. But I am accustomed enough to it. I know what I am doing."

There was an even longer pause. Barenziah finally spoke: "I believe you. At least, I believe that you believe in your plan. Very well. I will help, but you must let me do so in my own way."

Helseth merely nodded, and turned back to the note as Barenziah left the chamber as serenely as she had come.

_The contract remains unfulfilled._

_I do not tolerate failure._

_You have one remaining chance._

_Let us hope that it will be third time lucky._

_No more sneaking through the night, or ambushes on the road-side._

_I want it big, and I want it public._

_Do not disappoint me._

_H._

* * *

Fedris Hler was also working late that night, scanning over countless letters, missives and reports in his private room in the Temple. He paused every now and again to stamp letters with a single 'H'. Read and approved by the Steward of Almalexia.

But his mind wandered far away and elsewhere, back to his last private meeting with the Goddess.

She had said only one thing, and offered no explanation.

Fedris Hler twisted the phrase over and over in his mind, but it was so obscure, so vague that even his brilliance could not decipher it. So he put it to one side, but still it burned on in his mind, infuriatingly distracting.

_He is coming._

* * *

**A/N: Next update Saturday!**


	2. Loved and Lost

**A/N: Hey everyone! Here's Chapter 1! Onnamusha: thanks for your review on the prologue, and I hope you enjoy the adventures Llovesi and Julan get up to this time (more than they will, probably!) CampsMcCamper: thanks for your review too! I'm glad the last line got your attention. So who is Almalexia talking about? Guesses on the back of a postcard... or in the review box!**

* * *

_**Chapter 1: Loved and Lost**_

"Ser Llovesi? The city-dwellers from Ald'ruhn are here... I told them you were busy, but they're asking to see you personally... Llovesi?"

"Ouch!"Llovesi had jumped up suddenly from the fruitless searching in her chest and smacked her head on a jutting outcrop of red rock. Even after a month of living in it, Daedric architecture took some getting used to.

Head still smarting, she managed to smile at Sen, a slim Ahemmusa herder with streaks of grey running through her auburn hair.

"Sorry, sorry, it's just I seem to have misplaced the guest-list," Llovesi said. "Maybe Julan has it... or most likely one of the kids has run off with it. Uh, Ald'ruhn did you say?... They're arriving already!?"

Sen looked at Llovesi with wide eyes. "Oh, Llovesi, you aren't even ready! The wedding starts in two hours!"

Llovesi glanced down at her stained pants and shirt, still damp from scrubbing the floors in Ald Daedroth's great hall that morning.

"Oh, yes," she said. "Okay, um, I'll start getting dressed. Please tell Councillor Sarethi and his guests that I'll be with them in a bit... and with anyone else that arrives in the meantime. See if you can't find Julan. Oh, and Sen," she called as the older mer turned to go, "thank you. Really. You're being really helpful. Everyone is."

Sen nodded, with a slightly glazed expression that Llovesi suspected matched her own.

It was this wedding. This wedding that for the past two months had become The Wedding. The Wedding of Llovesi, Hortator and Nerevarine, to Ashkhan Julan Kaushibael of the Ahemmusa.

Of course they were already technically married, thanks to a quirk of Ashlander culture. But that didn't matter, not when word had got out, and it inevitably had, and soon all anyone was asking was when the wedding would be. It had become bigger than all of them–the flood of eager interest had quickly stamped out any notion they and the tribe had held of it being a quiet, modest event.

_But then again, it'll all be worth it. All this stress and panic will be worth it if it means this is the start of my life here. No more Blades. No more Blight. No more Sixth House. If I am called upon, I will help. But otherwise... If a quiet life is possible, I'm seizing it with both hands._

The last month living here in Ald Daedroth had proved to Llovesi that it perhaps would be possible. Of course, the first few months after what people had come to call the Red Mountain Event had been chock-full of meetings and missions and expeditions. Llovesi retained her political titles–and the positions that came with them–and at times they'd proved a heavy burden. Before the event Llovesi had been dealing with people's beliefs. Now she had their expectations. But she'd finally moved in with the Ahemmusa, and although there remained much to do to make the island fully hospitable, she and Julan had set a wedding date.

So the invitations had been sent out, to Great House councillors, to the Ashkhans, the Wise Women, to Guild leaders and Holamayan priests, to friends and acquaintances. Llovesi's eyes wandered to the crate temporarily serving as her desk as she retrieved her dress from the chest. Caius's letter was buried there somewhere, underneath all the minutes from council meetings, reports and treaties and Azura knows what else.

_Regretfully events conspire to keep me in the Imperial City._

_Congratulations._

_Caius._

He'd even hand-signed it. Duke Vedam Dren's steward, and a few others, had simply sent notes politely declining the invitation.

Spring had slipped quickly and quietly into summer, and then there'd been her decision to plan the day herself. She'd wanted to throw herself into it. Wanted something to help her focus her life, help her come down from the events earlier in the year. Llovesi snorted as she stripped to her undergarments. _Of all the stupid decisions_... But still, an Ashlander wedding probably wasn't something to entrust to some fashionable Vivec events handler. It had to be traditional, as well as accessible for all the non-Ashlanders in attendance. The decision to hold the ceremony at the Ahemmusa camp in Ald Daedroth was both convenient and deliberate. Neutral territory.

The camp was taking it all in its stride, more or less, even with the near-constant stream of visitors in the month running up to the wedding–caterers and bards and journalists, all very keen to know just how Llovesi would deal with so many different guests.

_Only my wedding would end up being a sodding diplomatic event_, thought Llovesi as she pulled her dress, the dress once destined to be Mashti's wedding dress, over her head. Still, if the people of Vvardenfell could unite in great strife, then they could unite in great joy as well. _Happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts_...

"You look beautiful."

Llovesi turned. "You know," she said playfully, "in Imperial culture it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding."

"Really?" Julan grinned and crossed the room, sweeping Llovesi into his arms. "That's funny. Because in Ashlander culture, it's good luck. Very," and he planted a soft kiss on her neck. "Very." _Kiss._ "Very good luck."

He steered her gently towards their bed.

"Julan!" Llovesi laughed and pulled free. "Come on, the Redorans are already looking for me and I'm not even ready yet. Besides, I wouldn't want to ruin your outfit!"

Julan wrinkled his nose in what looked like a mixture of disgust and amusement. His gulakhans had helped him into some very traditional Ashlander dress: a fringed long shirt complete with feathers and beads, an animal hide sash and dyed pants stitched with traditional patterns. A simple circlet swept his long dark hair back from his face.

"Yes, well, I'm just looking forward to getting it off. And yours too..."

There was a polite cough from the doorway.

Llovesi bolted up guiltily. "Sen! I'm sorry, please tell Athyn I'm coming right away!"

Sen blushed slightly. "Actually, it's Master Aryon of House Telvanni. He says: 'Please do ask Lady Nerevarine to meet us as soon as possible. Mistress Therana has wandered off three times and these corridors are not conducive to hide and seek.'"

Llovesi sighed, and laced up her sandals. "Coming, I promise."

"There's still time to elope, you know," Julan whispered into her ear.

* * *

But it wasn't all that bad in the end.

Mistress Therana was found lecturing some pack guar on hormadors and was quickly reunited with the rest of the guests from House Telvanni, namely Master Aryon, Divayth Fyr with a 'daughter' under each arm, and Sadela Areth: Mistress Dratha's steward who'd come in her employer's place. She kept casting nervous glances at the aged and eccentric Mistress Therana as they walked around the reception area, as if she were a scrib keeping an eye on a nearby cliff racer.

Llovesi and Julan walked among the guests, greeting and making introductions as they arrived, ferried over from the mainland in small hired gondolas. Llovesi eventually found the guest-list in shreds, being fed by one of Nummu's children to her pet rat. But it didn't matter too much. Llovesi knew all the guests more or less personally and, despite the fame and prestige of the event, the distance from the mainland seemed to have put off most gate-crashers.

She gave a warm welcome to the Sarethi and Morvayn families as the sun beat strongly down overhead. She was glad for the short sleeves of the dress–Vvardenfell summers were hot, perhaps even hotter than the lava that bubbled in the heart of Red Mountain, and even the sea breeze was doing little to assuage the apparent discomfort of many guests.

But, as she looked around, she marvelled at just how well the reception seemed to be going. Normally Dunmer and Imperials would be at each other's throats, with the Ashlanders fighting against both sides. The old tensions had by no means disappeared, but today, for this one day, they'd been laid aside. It was a ceasefire.

Here all were mingling, Imperial and Dunmer, the traditional and the modern, Great House retainers and Ashlanders. The atmosphere was light and easy despite the stifling heat. The breeze picked up the soft notes of 'Nerevar Rising' as the bards began to play; the music was carried through guests and round flower arrangements, over the fire-pit where fresh fish was cooking until the whole ruin sung with the sounds of joy and summer.

Here Crassius Curio was talking to Ashkhan Kaushad and Falura about his new play while the former guffawed and the latter smiled politely and cupped her pregnant belly as if to shield her unborn child's ears.

Here the priestess Danso Indules was sharing a joke with the priestess Mehra Milo. Two sides of the Temple, not long reunited, joining together with a smile.

But it was true that sometimes the smiles falling on Llovesi faltered. She touched her face self-consciously. Of course, some people hadn't seen her in the past few months. Her souvenir from the fight with Dagoth Ur was quite shocking to the unaccustomed. Hells, it was still quite shocking to her, when she caught her reflection in passing. Both Mashti and Sinnammu had tried in vain to heal the scars closing her empty eye-socket before declaring it beyond them.

"_I am sorry, Llovesi_," Mashti had said. "_Whatever deep magic the Sharmat Dagoth Ur corrupted in his self-creation, he has tainted you with. I fear these scars will be with you forever. If it is beyond the powers of Azura then I regret that I cannot and perhaps should not attempt any more_."

If this was Azura's parting shot, then Llovesi could deal with that. The Daedra Prince had been silent on all other fronts, ever since their last meeting on the mountain. No more prophecies. She was free.

Ashkhan Han-Ammu of the Erabenimsun was waving them over. Llovesi was walking beside Julan when she felt someone tug at her elbow.

It was Mashti herself.

"I wanted to speak with you before the ceremony," she said, and motioned to Llovesi to follow her a little way down the beach, away from the music, the chatter and the playful screams of children.

"I will not draw you from your guests and celebrations long," the mabrigash said, and hesitated, "but I wanted to speak with you alone. My son would think me an old fool. Perhaps you will too."

"No, of course n–"

Mashti held up a patient hand. "Whatever you may think, I have been an old fool. But all that is in the past now." She cast her eyes out to sea.

Llovesi studied the other woman's face carefully. She did have a new warmth to her expression when they saw her now, but her eyes bore a sadness that seemed set in stone. And she still carried herself shyly among the Ahemmusa, like a dog fearing a master's kick.

Mashti continued to gaze out over the gentle waves. It was a clear day, and they could almost make out the beach where Camp Kaushibael lay.

"I have been meditating upon the ancestors guidance," Mashti said slowly, her eyes fixed on some mid-point in the distance. "And, well, you are making your lives further from me today. So I think perhaps I will... come to visit more, if...?"

Llovesi took Mashti's hand. "We'd love you to," she said, and meant every word.

Mashti smiled, turning to look at Llovesi. "Thank you. The stars have smiled upon you, Llovesi. You do look beautiful today. I am glad that my dress could finally serve its purpose, and make some better memories."

It was Llovesi's turn to stammer awkwardly.

Mashti cut across her politely. "You have made my son a very happy mer. Perhaps happier than I could have, but I know a mother's love can be difficult to bear. But when I see him happy, I am happy. I thank you for that. You have my blessing, and the blessing of the ancestors... daughter."

Family. Acceptance. The greatest gifts she could have hoped for. Lost for words, Llovesi swept the surprised mabrigash into a hug.

"Come now," Mashti said finally. "They must be waiting for you. Azura take me if I make you late for your own wedding!"

* * *

The great hall of Ald Daedroth could hardly be described as light and airy, even in the heart of spring, but it was utterly transformed today. Gone were the tanning racks, cooking pots and storage crates, relegated to interior chambers. They were replaced with wreaths of flowers and benches. Gold Kanet, Willow Anther and Stoneflower, woven into delicate patterns, draped the red stone pillars. Coloured paper lanterns, in blue, red and green, had been strung along the walls, casting a soft, flattering glow upon the faces of the guests.

Llovesi and Julan faced each other, holding hands in front of Sinnammu, who was patiently waiting for the last of the guests to settle themselves onto the makeshift wooden benches. At last she raised her arms, her long-robed sleeves falling to her elbows, in a gesture of welcome.

"Greetings, Hearthfriends and guests, come to witness the joining of these two souls beneath the Gods and ancestors," she began, speaking Tamrielic so that all could understand.

"Long has it been our tradition, and the tradition of many, for the Ashkhan to choose his bride. Llovesi and Julan have chosen to change this tradition. They have chosen each other.

"_What a wondrous love it is,_

_To bind two souls in faith,_

_Chained completely together,_

_With never a false word,_

_Weal and woe, wish and real,_

_Woven each together,_

_From first kiss to last breath,_

_First and last whispered in love."_

Llovesi squeezed Julan's hands tightly. They'd chosen the poem together as well. She turned to smile at their guests, catching Hassour Zainsubani's eye, and that of his son, Hannat. She'd discovered the poem just before she'd first met the old trader.

Sinnammu was now inviting them to take their vows.

"Han-Julan Kaushibael," Llovesi began, "I have chosen to take you as my husband, lover and partner for life, in all things and before the ancestors and Gods. Will you take me?"

"Llovesi, I have chosen to take you as my wife, lover and partner for life, in all things and before the ancestors and Gods. If you will take me, then I will take you."

They were married. Llovesi felt sweet emotion fill her up. She had the impression that if she took one step she would float up and away into the clouds. Giddily, she clutched at Julan as applause and cheers popped in her ears.

Then someone screamed.

It was Galdal Omayn, the Grand Marshal of the Buoyant Armigers who had fought with Llovesi at Ghostgate. No sooner had the scream been torn from her lips than a trickle of blood followed. She had been stabbed in the back.

Everything started happening very quickly. Llovesi could only watch, paralysed by horror, as Ralyn Othravel rose in his seat and slew the black-armoured assassin before he had a chance to make another move and as the other guests ran, gasping and yelling. The world moved as if it were a series of images, being displayed one at a time.

Guests falling over each other, as pandemonium descended.

Galdal's body, twitching as she bled out on the floor, as temple priests and priestesses tried desperately to heal her.

The second assassin, moving through the crowd.

Llovesi saw them and she couldn't move. Every limb was frozen in place, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Julan was shouting next to her, but his eyes were elsewhere, fixed on what had happened, and not on what would. They had no weapons on them. Llovesi strained to reach inside herself, to draw out a fire spell. But the assassin was flying towards her now, she could see the soft light of the lanterns glinting off their Daedric dagger...

Then someone else was in front of her. Mashti. Like her son before her once had, she threw herself in front of an attacker's blade.

The dagger sank into her chest to its hilt. The tip pricked Llovesi's stomach as it emerged the other side. The assassin grunted in frustration as Mashti sagged, but she wasn't finished yet. She placed her hands firmly on either side of his head. Llovesi watched, powerless to respond, as the assassin's helmet became frosty, then glacial. The ice spread down his body as he stiffened, lost grip on the dagger, and fell back.

The room was quieting now. No more assassins were springing from the crowd and the guests were holding each other, calming each other down. Llovesi felt as though she were in a thick mist. Mashti fell against her, and she laid her mother-in-law down gently on the floor. Julan was there now, his eyes wide.

"Mo–mother? Mother!"

Llovesi pulled the dagger from Mashti's chest with a sick, sucking noise. She placed her hands on the wound and _pushed_ with every fibre of her being. _Heal_.

But something was wrong. There was more than blood seeping from Mashti's wound. Some darker substance was leaking out, absorbing Llovesi's healing spell. Keeping the wound open.

Mashti began to shake. Her eyes rolled mouth in her head, sweat beaded on her forehead and spittle bubbled in the corners of her mouth. She reached up and grasped Llovesi's arms till her knuckles went white.

"L–l–l..." she stuttered.

"No!" Llovesi cried. "No, please, this isn't fair. Not like this!"

"L–l–l... d–d–d..." Then her hands dropped, she coughed, and her head lolled.

The guests gathered around them, and Julan pulled Llovesi into his arms. She wasn't sure if it was her tears that were staining her cheeks, or his.

All around them, no one spoke a word. The silence of the grave had descended.


	3. Blood to Come

**A/N: Thanks for your review Ozymandeos - that's exactly the kind of reaction I was hoping to get!**

* * *

_**Chapter 2: Blood to Come**_

There was blood. So much blood. Llovesi's hands were covered, her arms too, up to the elbows. The wedding dress was adorned with a blooming red rose.

She sat on the beach in the ebbing tide, letting the seawater wash over her, scrubbing furiously. She felt that if she scrubbed hard enough she might be able to rub it all away. _This was never meant to happen. This was all my fault._

* * *

They had laid sheets over Mashti and Galdal. And so, their wedding had become a wake.

"But, who would want to murder the Nerevarine?" Hannat Zainsubani had finally asked in a trembling voice.

That question went unanswered, out loud at least. Llovesi looked up at the crowd through a veil of tears and seen that their faces all said the same thing. _Anyone_. _It could be anyone at all._

She spoke, in a faulting voice. "I thought it was the Temple, perhaps. Forgive me," she added, upon seeing Danso Indules's face, "but they would have had their reasons, at the time. This has happened twice before. I never went to the guards, because I thought the attacks would stop if I managed to defeat Dagoth Ur. And... and they did..."

She couldn't bear to look at Julan, sitting with his mother's body.

"But who _are_ these people?" Raesa Pullia asked. "The Morag Tong?"

"No, this is not the work of the Tong," Athyn Sarethi said flatly, gazing down at the bodies of the killers.

"How can you be so sure, Dunmer?" Raesa asked, fixing him with her trademark steely glare.

"Because this is not the armour of the Tong," Athyn Sarethi replied smoothly. "And neither of them carried a writ. They attacked and killed one other to their target. And they used tactics of deceit and trickery. Poison. Concealment. There was no honour in this. And, Champion, you'd do well to remember you address a councillor of House Redoran. That's, _serjo_, to you."

Raesa gripped the sword at her hip, but before she could reply Llovesi cut across her.

"Please," she said, "just don't. Ser Sarethi is right. I know that it was not the Morag Tong."

She didn't want to discuss her reasons for this knowledge, her deal with Eno Hlaalu, but fortunately, no one asked her. She didn't see Julan glancing at her from his vigil.

"But _who_ then?" Brara Morvayn whispered, clutching her shaking children to her skirts.

There was a polite cough from the back. "The Dark Brotherhood."

The crowd turned as one. It was Percius Mercius. "I didn't know they operated here on Vvardenfell," he continued, stepping forward, "but I recognise them from my time on the mainland, and in Cyrodiil."

A shocked hush fell upon the group. Ralyn broke the silence, speaking bitterly from his position next to Galdal's body. "Of course they do not operate here. The organisation is entirely illegal. We would stamp out such depraved filth. Of all the barbaric, cruel–"

"Right," Llovesi said, cutting across him. "The Dark Brotherhood. I like to know the names of my enemies before I destroy them." She got to her feet. "I need to take a walk. I need to... When I get back we shall honour the dead with the respect they are due... But I–"

"Are you sure that's wise, Llovesi?" Mehra Milo asked quietly. "There may be more of them."

"Then they will not leave this island alive!" Llovesi shouted then bit her lip. She turned and walked from the hall, and it took her remaining bit of composure to not flee on the spot.

* * *

Now she was out here alone, gulping in the dusk air in the vain hope that it would clear her mind, but all she could focus on was deep thudding in her temples and the taste of bile of her mouth. And the image of Mashti swam in her mind, the light in her eyes sputtering out...

The sound of footsteps crunching in the sand behind her forced her round.

Julan took her hands, in a twisted parody of their position just a few short hours ago. He looked as hollow as she felt.

"Julan," she whispered, "your mother... I'm so sorry. This was all my fault."

He frowned slightly, but when he spoke his voice was soft, if tired and raw. "Why do you say that?"

"Because if I'd gone to the guards all those months ago, then I might've been able to stop the attacks. And... _this_... would never have happened."

She took a deep breath.

"Well, they made a mistake too, in coming here today. I will not rest until every one of their heads rolls to the ground."

She spoke with such bite that Julan dropped her hands and took a step backwards. Which made his next sentence a surprise to Llovesi.

"I'm coming with you."

"But..."

"No buts. Before their heads touch the ground they'll have found one of my arrows in their throats."

This was not Julan, this suddenly cold figure before her. He looked as if he'd aged a hundred years. So when she reached out for him, she was glad that he returned the embrace.

"And the tribe–?"

"–Will understand. And they'll manage without us for a few days. Besides," he spoke into her neck, "I let you walk into an assassins' den alone once before, and I won't let you go alone again. You're all I've got now."

The tears came then, good and proper, until they were both a wet and trembling mess. Sobs racked their bodies as they stood on the beach, but they didn't let go of one another. Llovesi felt something had broken inside her. Grief was all she knew. Then she looked up through the film of her tears and knew that, no–that was a lie. Something stronger could fill her, if she let it.

The desire for revenge.

* * *

The guests left in small, sombre groups. Some teleported directly from the camp, others hurried into the enveloping darkness to the beach where their private boats were waiting. Even those who had planned on staying said farewell, said that they would leave Llovesi and Julan in peace.

Galdal Omayn had been cremated and her ashes placed in a small earthen jar.

"I need to return to Ghostgate directly and inform the Buoyant Armigers," Ralyn said, cradling the jar as if it might break between his hands. "Stay safe, Nerevarine."

They buried Masthi on the beach in front of the ruin. It seemed a perverted way to carry out her final wish: to be closer to them.

The next morning they discussed their plan with Sinnammu, and she agreed to watch of the camp in their absence.

"We'll only be a week at most," Llovesi assured her. In truth, the camp would probably be safer without them–without her. These were days of peace and safety, and if the Dark Brotherhood were hunting her they would have no reason to go to the camp if she left it.

They were headed to Ebonheart. Julan had reasoned that, as the main port in Vvardenfell, the assassins would have had to come through there, if they didn't operate on Vvardenfell itself. Seyda Neen was too small; it was too easy to get noticed. Perhaps someone in Ebonheart would know where the Dark Brotherhood was based. Llovesi hoped so; mainland Morrowind was roughly twice the size of Vvardenfell. If she didn't know where to look, she would never find them.

And find them she would. There had been blood, and there would be blood yet to come.

* * *

"Have you seen anyone come through here wearing this helmet?"

The guard who had been patrolling the port sighed, and took the stitched leather helm from Llovesi, turning it over in his hands.

"No," he said, "but then, you are aware that Ebonheart is Vvardenfell's biggest port? That I am not the only guard to patrol here in the western docks? What I'm saying is, it's entirely possible that someone could have come through and not been noticed by me."

"I have very good reason to believe it once belonged to a member of the Dark Brotherhood." Llovesi said.

The guard handed the helmet back as if she'd just mentioned it was diseased.

"The Dark Brotherhood? Who did you anger?"

"To be honest, I don't really care about that. I'm the Nerevarine, I'm bound to attract attention. But when they attacked me, they... went too far. I need to find them."

The guard sighed, looking for all the world as if he wished he'd been assigned somewhere different to patrol that morning.

"You're mad. But okay, I'll tell you what, talk to Apelles Matius. He's our new Captain of the Guard, recently arrived from Cyrodiil, now the quarantine's down. Dark Brotherhood activity is illegal, and should be officially reported. He may have an idea of where they operate from too, if you're determined to track them down."

* * *

Apelles Matius was patrolling the battlements of the Grand Council Hall. He was dressed head to toe in silvery-grey plate armour that Llovesi didn't recognise.

He took the helmet from Llovesi and looked between her and it several times, his eyebrows raised.

"You say this came from a Dark Brotherhood assassin? That they attacked you? The fact that you're standing here seems to suggest otherwise."

"The only reason we're standing here is because someone we loved jumped between me and the assassin's blade. We've heard they operate from the mainland, and we've got a score to settle," Llovesi replied.

Apelles Matius handed the helmet back.

"Well, I've heard about Dark Elves and their honour. If you're determined to have vengeance, and if you're feeling particularly suicidal, then I have it on good authority that they operate out of Mournhold, the Temple city at the heart of the city of Almalexia."

"The capital?" Julan asked. "Fine. How do we get there?"

"They're still wary of Blight contamination, but if you're willing to go through their checks then all you need to do is get the boat to Old Ebonheart, then a carriage to Almalexia."

Llovesi's heart sank. That was a journey that could easily last a few weeks. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to go through with it if she waited that long.

"We need to get there faster than that," she said.

Apelles scratched his stubble. "Well, there's Asciene Rane. She's a mage from Mournhold, on a special appointment to Duke Dren himself. She arrived the same time as me, a few weeks ago. On the same ship actually. Nice woman." He coughed. "Anyway, if you're so hell-bent on tracking down these assassins she may be able to speed up your journey a bit. You'll probably find her in the council chambers. Excuse me now if that's all, I need to finish my patrol."

* * *

Asciene Rane, a small Breton woman with sleek brown hair, looked highly flustered when Llovesi and Julan approached her with their request.

"I don't know," she said. "This is highly irregular. I could send you, theoretically, but it's usually by special appointment only. They're still worried about the Blight, you see? And to send two of you... What's your reason for wanting to go to the city?"

Llovesi glanced at Julan. It probably didn't matter who they told at this stage.

"The Dark Brotherhood made an attempt on my life, only to take the life of someone very dear to us by mistake. We want to find them."

Asciene looked horrified. "I can't say I'm happy to send you off on that sort of fool's errand. Still." She bit her lip. "I can see why you'd want to get it cleared up. Okay, I'll send you. I maintain a psychic link with the new court mage, Effe-Tei, in the Royal Palace, much like the Mages Guild's guild guides. You'll need to speak with him to come back, or take the longer trip. It's up to you. Okay, I wish you the best of luck... take my hands."

She held out a hand to each of them. Llovesi and Julan took hands too, and he cast her a determined glance as all three of them stood there in the council chambers, as if they were taking part in some sort of ritual. Then they were flying through dark space, being squeezed all over, only to emerge floating into soft light.

They'd arrived in Mournhold.

* * *

**A/N: Just a small explanation on my usage of Mournhold/Almalexia - if I'm correct in my understanding, it's a Vatican City/Rome situation, so that's how I'm handling references to the two places. Also, I'm imagining the city (and buildings in it) as far bigger than in game (a lot of my in head references are based on Istanbul). Next chapter - Friday!**


	4. The Dark Brotherhood

**A/N: Thanks to OnnaMusha and Ozymandeos for your reviews. Hoping this chapter lives up to your Dark Brotherhood expectations! Obviously, Llovesi is not going to have such a favourable outlook... Also, slight language warning.**

* * *

_**Chapter 3: The Dark Brotherhood**_

Llovesi and Julan had appeared in a spacious, high-ceilinged hall. Llovesi's eye travelled from the floor, set in alternating stone slabs in moss and emerald green, to the walls, pale green and adorned only with red banners that fluttered in the summer breeze, to the vaulted ceiling. Several corridors and ornate staircases led out of the hall, but what truly caught the eye was a large planter in the centre, filled with sweet-smelling yellow and pink flowers, the like of which Llovesi had never seen before. With the stained-glass windows casting dappled light into the room, Llovesi had the impression of standing in a forest clearing–albeit one constructed entirely of marble and stone.

So this was the Royal Palace of Mournhold.

Several pages strolling about in robes, and what Llovesi presumed were the guards–all dressed in stylised ruby-red armour with mauve chain mail–had jumped at their sudden appearance. An Argonian talking to one of the pages cast them an appraising look and strode over, his robe billowing about his ankles.

"Greetings, seras," he said, bowing his head, his tongue darting through his scaly lips. "I am Effe-Tei, the court mage. I suspect you know that already, hmm? Why has Asciene Rane sent you here? This is most unusual."

His tongue darted through his lips again, and Llovesi wondered if it was a nervous tick. She explained their story quickly, leaving out all but the essential details. Effe-Tei's eyes widened, and he wrung his hands.

"Oh dear. I am afraid I would know nothing about that. You will have to ask one of the guards." He gestured for one of the amour-clad figures to come over, and quickly explained what Llovesi had told him.

The guard whistled, the sound echoing oddly in her closed helm.

"You want to go looking for the Dark Brotherhood? It's your funeral. Look, I've heard rumours that they have a hideout in the ruins of Old Mournhold. You can get there through the sewers in the Great Bazaar."

"Old Mournhold?" Julan asked.

"Old Mournhold–you know the ruins of the ancient city?" Effe-Tei asked. "You do not know? Well, in the First Era, Mournhold was attacked and destroyed by Mehrunes Dagon. Almalexia and Sotha Sil drove him back into Oblivion, but the city had to be rebuilt. That's what the statue in Plaza Brindisi Dorom commemorates. Come."

He led them up a short flight of stairs to a large, clear bay window, and pointed. They could see a large square, dominated by a fountain. In the middle of the fountain, two statues were frozen in ever-lasting battle. One, a robed and armoured woman, was spearing the other, a four-armed man with curling horns, through the chest. Almalexia and Mehrunes Dagon. Around the fountain were several stretches of green grass, with patches of shade cast by large trees. Families sat on the grass, and guards patrolled casually, both those in red armour and what looked like Ordinators. _Well, it is a Temple City_, Llovesi thought to herself as she watched the idyllic scene. Too bad it held something rotten beneath its surface.

She was hardly in the mood for beauty.

"There." Effe-Tei pointed to a door set in the walls of the Plaza through which a steady stream of people were passing. "That will lead you to the Great Bazaar. Go through the main doors here into the courtyard and turn right. The large gate leads onto the Plaza. The ruins of Old Mournhold are now used as the sewers. You will need to find a grate for access, but they are plentiful enough. I wish you both luck."

Llovesi and Julan thanked him, and turned to leave. Effe-Tei watched them go, then turned back to the window over-looking the Plaza. The guard who'd spoken with Llovesi and Julan joined him.

"That was her," she said.

Effe-Tei shifted slightly. "The female fits the description certainly. The scars, the ring... But we were not told about the male."

"No matter. He's probably just her consort or something. We'll have to take them both."

Effe-Tei licked his lips again and the guard frowned beneath her helm. It always annoyed her when he did that.

"You can't get cold feet. We have our orders."

"I know," Effe-Tei said, "but there is a lot we were not told about. The male. The murder..."

"I repeat: no matter. When they come back–_if _they come back, you know what to do."

The guard stalked off, leaving Effe-Tei gazing out over the Plaza beneath the midday sun. _Poor warmbloods_, he thought. _It will be easier for them both if they die down there_.

* * *

Llovesi and Julan squeezed through the crowd into the Great Bazaar. The weather was becoming sweltering, with only the slightest breeze. They were a lot further south here, and the summer weather reflected that. But still people flooded the streets. They were moving slower too, because people kept turning to stare at Llovesi's scars. Some were openly gawping, pointing and nudging their neighbours.

"_Isn't that_..._?"_

"_That's her, I'm sure it is!"_

"This is ridiculous," Julan grumbled, when they finally reached a clear spot on a sloping stone bridge that spanned the district. "Let me levitate up and see if I can spot any sewer grates."

He moved his hands across his body to perform the spell, but instead of lifting him into the air, the magicka dissipated into the ground as if it were being sucked from his body.

Julan frowned. "That doesn't normally happen," he said.

He raised his arms to try again, but one of the Ordinators was rushing over. His Indoril armour was silver instead of gold, and embellished with many sashes and a long chainmail skirt.

"Halt!" he called. "By order of the Lady Almalexia, Lady of Mercy, all levitation is banned in Mournhold. No one's head shall rise higher than her own. You'll have to go into the outer city if you want to fly around."

"Higher than–?" Julan muttered incredulously. "What happens if people want to go upstairs for Azura's sake? Lady of Egoism, more like. Okay, never mind. I just wanted to find the nearest sewer grate."

"Adventurers are you?" It was impossible to tell the guard's expression beneath the metal mask, but Llovesi half fancied he was raising an eyebrow sarcastically, as the Ordinators did so well. "Finish crossing the bridge then head down into the lower Bazaar. There's a grate every ten feet or so in the back alleys. In future, kindly refrain from slurring the Goddess. Almsivi be with you."

"He was strangely helpful for an Ordinator," Llovesi said as he walked away. "I expected him to arrest you just for insulting one of the Tribunal."

"High Ordinator," Julan corrected as they walked over the bridge. "I think I've read about them. They serve the Temple and Almalexia here in Mournhold, while the ones who weren't good enough get sent over to Vvardenfell. No wonder they're more cheerful over here. Of course, they're still pious idiots serving a false God."

"Not any more," Llovesi reminded him. Almalexia would have lost her divinity three months ago, along with the rest of the Tribunal. And for a woman who insisted no one's head rise above her, it sounded as if it had been incredibly important to her... Vivec's words came back to her, drifting into her mind from months ago: "_Almalexia takes her divinity very seriously, and the loss will weigh heavily on her..."_

They quickly found a grate and slipped down into the tunnel below. It was dark and dank and smelt just as bad as the sewers they'd trudged through in Vivec.

"Urgh," Julan said, kicking some unidentifiable sludge from his boot. Then he turned to look at Llovesi, suddenly serious.

"This is it," he said. "Are you ready?"

"I am. Let's get the sick bastards."

However diverting Mournhold's differences had been, their purpose here was singular. Destroy the Dark Brotherhood, and get out. As Julan had said: this was it.

Julan cast a light spell, and the small orb of sparkling light cast their faces into shadow as they trudged through the sewers, weapons raised. The heat of the day touched them less down here, but the smell lingered as they moved on. Here and there they could see evidence of the old city–a faded mosaic, a collapsed pillar, a long rusted gate. It occurred to Llovesi as they crept along that even the ground they walked on looked as if it had once been a street.

They reached a set of intricate, if rusted, gates that were still intact and blocking their progress.

"Look," Julan murmured, pointing to a mark near the left gate. It was small and subtle, but Llovesi could make it out in the light that bobbed around their heads. A black hand.

"You think that's it?" she asked.

"Yes. Unless there's another gang running around down here. Which I guess wouldn't surprise me."

He took his bow from his back and fitted an arrow to the string. "Are you ready?"

Llovesi shifted her spear to her right hand and drew the Fang of Haynekhtnamet in her left. She'd learnt a little about the powerful dagger she'd taken from Dagoth Araynys in Mamaea, and she was glad to have it in her hand now.

"I'm ready," she said, and bit her lip. "I love you."

"I love you too," he whispered, and pushed the gate open with his shoulder. It swung inwards easily.

Hot fear suddenly clawed its way into Llovesi's throat. They were about to enter a den of assassins, not to reason with them this time, but to destroy them. Would she be kidding herself if she thought they were going to come out alive? She glanced at Julan's face yet again as they crept forward. No–neither of them wanted this to be a suicide mission. They would leave here with their lives because Mashti didn't have hers any more.

The tunnel led up to a door. Llovesi felt that if they weren't both so resolved in vengeance they would have turned and fled. Because it was one of the most terrifying things she had ever seen. A cloud-like skull with leering sockets, emblazoned with the same black hand they had passed earlier. It looked over the figure of a woman worshipped by skeletons. It was as if a cult had come to pray in a battlefield, where all was red and black. Everything seemed to be _throbbing_. Disgust twisted Llovesi's guts, but then the skull's eyes shone red, and a dark whisper emanated forth:

"_What is the scent of night_?"

Llovesi glanced at Julan, anything to avoid looking at the skull, whose sockets seemed like windows to a void. _A riddle, then? What scents could be associated... ?_

"Blood," she whispered.

The door creaked open. There were old buildings beyond, or more accurately ruins, but rocks and dirt were swallowing them all. It looked as if the earth was actively trying to reclaim them. There were signs of habitation though–rickety wooden walkways had been constructed, a large campfire surrounded by benches sat on the floor of the pit.

Then Llovesi saw a black-clad figure leave one of the ruined buildings and walk over to the campfire and she was near-blinded by a fury she had never known nor felt before.

She didn't remember that much about the details of the fight later, only impressions. It all happened so quickly.

The rage left her mind through her fingertips: a massive fireball that seared the air as it flew toward the assassin, who dodged only just in time. Badly singed, the woman had time to yell in pain and confusion before one of Julan's arrows found her throat. She stuttered and fell to her knees, clawing at the shaft protruding from her neck.

But her shout had alerted the others, who were running from buildings, struggling on armour, unsheathing weapons. Beside her Julan grabbed two arrows, nocked one and loosed it, then the other. Another assassin fell to the ground, but more were running towards them now. An ebony dart whizzed past Llovesi ear, and she raised her spear to waist level and charged down into the cavern. She caught an assassin in the stomach, the sharpened glass punching straight through their armour. As they jerked back, she slit their throat.

An assassin jumped toward her from behind, and she wheeled round, the dead assassin falling from her spear, to kick the new one back and crack his skull with her spear. An arrow _thucked_ into his chest.

"Blindside, Llovesi!" Julan called, dropping his bow and drawing his sword.

Llovesi turned to her left and pushed the assassin back with her spear, before impaling their chest and dragging the spear up to their throat. She backed up to a nearby building so they could no longer approach her weaker side. She'd put work into learning how to fight all over again with the loss of her eye, but this was testing. There were so many of them, so many to destroy.

All she saw was red and black, all she heard was the pounding of blood in her ears and the shrieks of all the fallen. She struck, again and again. They landed blows on her, she felt hot blood on her arms, a deep ache in her chest, but they were falling. She heard a voice call, and a hand fall on her shoulder. She jumped to one side to deflect a blow that never came. For it was Julan, Julan sending healing sparks up and down her body and mouthing something.

"Llovesi, they're all dead. Stop, Llovesi. They're all dead."

"Not quite."

He had come so quietly that they hadn't even noticed him in the doorway of the building next to them. Dressed in the dark leather armour, but without the full helm, his grey hair hung in two sleek ponytails over his shoulders. He was holding a tightly rolled scroll, but he let it drop as he surveyed the scene in front of them.

"Impressive," the Dunmer assassin said. "I would consider offering you membership, had it not been my brothers and sisters that you have slaughtered. And there remains the small matter of the contract on your head."

He drew his dagger so lazily that Llovesi didn't even realise what he was doing until he was upon her.

She ducked, and felt the dagger bite into her forehead. But as she blinked blood from her eye, the master assassin made a strange choking noise. Julan had jumped on his back, and was holding his bow in both hands, pulling it tight against the assassin's throat.

Llovesi didn't need another signal. Taking her dagger, she thrust it up into the assassin's chin.

He dropped into Julan arms, raising a weak hand to his throat in what looked like disbelief.

"No... tell my liege... I have... failed h..." he spluttered, his eyes rolling up into his head until all they could see were his bloodshot eyeballs.

Julan dropped the assassin, breathing hard, and went to pick up the scroll he had dropped.

"What did he mean, 'my liege'?" Llovesi asked softly, more to herself than to Julan, but he answered her, scanning the scroll with worried eyes:

"_The Bearer of this document, under special dispensation of the Night Mother, who has entered in a contract in perpetuity with H, is given special dispensation to execute Llovesi_..._"_

He swallowed hard.

"Llovesi, I think he meant Helseth. King Hlaalu Helseth of Morrowind. The King of Morrowind wants you dead."

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so Tribunal's Dark Brotherhood was way different from anything we saw in the later games, but as I was editing this chapter I thought, "why not add one of those door things?" Et voilà. Next chapter on Monday, hopefully!**


	5. A Rock and a Hard Place

**A/N: Thanks to Ozymandeos and CampsMcCamper for your reviews since the last chapter! I should put up a 'warning' for this chapter - this is pretty much the point where my version of Tribunal starts to differ from the game's version. Some major changes, some minor. But I hope everyone will stick around with the story regardless! And feedback is great, since I haven't really taken game events into my own hands before I'd like to know if I'm doing an okay job.**

* * *

_**Chapter 4: A Rock and a Hard Place**_

"Don't be ridiculous," Llovesi said, laughing shakily. She went to Julan's side and took the rolled parchment from his hands, reading it quickly.

"There could be hundreds of people in Mournhold with 'H' as an initial. Not just in Mournhold, but in the whole of Almalexia."

"Yes," Julan said, "but he did say 'my liege'. We both heard him."

"Fine," Llovesi said, dropping the parchment and staring at Julan. "But it doesn't make any sense. Why would King Helseth want to kill me?"

"Maybe he sees you as a political opponent? You are the Nerevarine after all. You know what they say about Helseth and his political opponents..."

Llovesi gave Julan a pointed look. "No, I don't. I've kept my political focus close to Vvardenfell and you know that. He's only been King for a few months, hasn't he? I remember his coronation... and they're saying things about him already?"

Julan shifted uncomfortably. "It's not what I know so much... haven't you ever read _A Game at Dinner_? Could've sworn I'd lent it to you when it came out. It was one of my mother's fav–"

He stopped abruptly.

"Yes," Llovesi said gently. "Never mind all this Helseth business. Let's remember what we came for. And now we have avenged your mother, I think we should leave."

She picked the scroll up again.

"If Helseth has a problem with me then we can deal with it through Duke Vedam Dren. I'm sure he'd be interested to see this contract, whatever he thinks of me. But for now, I don't care."

She took her amulet of Almsivi Intervention and threw it over both their necks.

"Let's go home."

* * *

They appeared into warm twilight in front of the Temple of Mournhold. Llovesi tucked the amulet back into her cuirass and looked up at the building behind them.

It looked as if someone had placed an elegantly curved shell in the midst of a pleasant green courtyard. An incredibly large shell, with two spires rising up to the heavens, whose twilight colouring cast pink-purple hues onto its white surface.

Llovesi and Julan started walking down the flight of steps towards the Royal Palace, which was just as striking in its difference–tall and imposing as well, yet angular, sculpted, green. A form of unyielding stone compared to the subtle, almost organic nature of the Temple.

_Does Almalexia hide in that Temple_? Llovesi thought as they walked through the gates to the Palace Courtyard. _Does she hide away from the world like Vivec in his Palace_?

They entered the Reception Hall, and were glad to see Effe-Tei was still there, sitting on a wooden bench reading.

"You're definitely not interested in confronting... _him_ at all then?" Julan whispered as they crossed the hall.

Llovesi hesitated. "I know it's his fault your mother died. But he didn't order her death, he ordered mine. We've dealt with those directly responsible. We can take care of any political issues when we're back in Vvardenfell. Let's go home and live our lives. The last thing Mashti told me was that, when I made you happy, she was happy. We'll go and make each other happy, Julan. Ah, Effe-Tei. Good evening sera, we're looking for transportation back to Vvardenfell."

The Argonian looked up from his book and licked his lips.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he whispered.

Llovesi frowned. "What do you mean, you 'can't do that'? If it's too late then I suppose we can come back in the morn–"

"No, you don't understand. I'm sorry." He raised his voice suddenly. "Guards! Guards!"

There was a thundering of metal boots on stone, and suddenly someone grabbed Llovesi roughly from behind.

"You have violated the law, Llovesi, and are under arrest."

Llovesi heart jumped into her mouth, and she twisted violently, but her captor's steely grasp dug into her arms with no release.

"On what grounds?" she snarled. "You do not know who you're dealing with! Release me at once!"

By her side Julan was also caught by a guard, and was struggling and swearing.

"I'm afraid not. We have orders to take you and your accomplice directly to Captain Tienius Delitian. Should you resist arrest, we have orders to kill you on the spot. What'll it be?"

They were marched through the Palace, their arms twisted painfully behind their backs. Llovesi blinked back furious tears. If this was some ploy of Helseth's to humiliate her because his assassins had failed... Well, perhaps she would change her mind about confronting him. King of Morrowind be damned.

Finally, the guard in front opened a door and pushed them inside. It slammed behind them. Llovesi rubbed her arms and glanced at the room around them. It looked like the mess hall of the guards' quarters. At least, it smelt like one. There were overflowing chests, shelves piled high with papers, benches with faded cushions. A pot of something unidentifiable bubbled over the fire. And, sitting at the long table in the middle of the room, casually buttering a slice of bread, was an Imperial man with neat brown hair, dressed in the Royal Guard armour.

He glanced up at their arrival, but didn't have a chance to move before Llovesi had run over to the table and slammed her fists upon it.

"What is the meaning of this?" she shouted. "We've committed no crime! Tell me what is going on!"

Tienius Delitian looked at her hands as if they were sullying his table, and carefully laid his bread and knife down.

"Sit," he said.

"I–"

"Sit. And your husband too. Julan, isn't it?"

_How does he know that?_ Llovesi sat down cautiously opposite him, Julan pulling out the chair next to her.

"Llovesi Kaushibael, you are under arrest for conspiracy to kill the king."

Llovesi mouth nearly hit the table. Then shock was replaced with boiling anger.

"That's not true! He's the one that trying to kill me! That's why you've dragged me here, isn't it? Because your assassins failed!"

She threw the contract onto the table. Tienius Delitian gave it a cursory glance, then took it and ripped it slowly into little pieces. He spoke as he was doing so:

"I won't pretend I don't know about this. Of course, I'll deny it publicly. All I'll say publicly is that you were seen heading into the sewers to employ the services of the Dark Brotherhood–there are witnesses–and I'll assure you that we have a number of documents proving your intent."

"What about me?" Julan growled. "I'm a witness to the fact you tried to have her killed! Your hired thugs killed my mother instead!"

Delitian glanced at him. "You're her husband. You're bound to support her. The death of your mother is... regrettable, but I am not at a liberty to discuss the King's intentions at this stage. All that remains now is the matter of your sentence. Conspiracy to kill the King is treason, and punishable by death." He drummed his fingers lightly on the table. "Unless..."

"Unless what?" Llovesi snapped.

"Unless you were willing to perform a few services for our King. To prove your loyalty. Then I'm sure we'd find out that this has all just been a misunderstanding."

"I'm not some errand-girl to be bossed around," Llovesi said. "I would have thought I'd earned some respect by now."

"Perhaps on Vvardenfell. But all you are in my eyes, at the moment, is an unrepentant criminal. Let me make this simple for you. You refuse, you walk out of here, and there is a bounty on your head. You may be able to take down a gang of unprepared assassins but you will be no match for King Helseth's personal guard, I assure you. Or, you can prove your worth to the King, and earn your freedom. In time."

He sat back in his chair and laced his fingers over his breastplate, apparently satisfied.

Llovesi balled her hands into fists. He had her between a rock and a hard place. The goal had never been her death, had it? Helseth had just manipulated her into coming to Mournhold–but what for? Or maybe he just wanted to humiliate her because she had continued to survive.

"If I say yes–_if–_what would you have me do?"

"You can start by talking to the people of Mournhold. There are rumours among the people about King Llethan's death. Rumours that Athyn Llethan did not die a natural death. There's no truth to them, of course. Speak to the people about King Llethan's death, and find the source of these rumours."

"You want me to be your spy? Because I'm not one of your hired thugs and people will trust me?" Llovesi crossed her arms. "If I'm going to betray people's confidences, I want to know the truth. Did Athyn Llethan die a natural death?"

Tienius Delitian stared at her.

"That's a silly question. I don't like silly questions. There is absolutely no evidence to suggest that Athyn Llethan died anything but a natural death. I assure you. Absolutely no evidence. Now, will you do this?"

"Doesn't seem like I have a choice. If I don't, you'll kill us... If I do..."

_If I do, maybe I find out a bit more about this Helseth who apparently wanted me dead. This Helseth who killed my mother-in-law._

"Fine," she said, "I'll do it."

"Good. Report to me when you've learned the source of the rumours about King Llethan's death. Oh and, Llovesi," he added as they stood to go. "The guards have your description. Try to leave the city, you or Julan, even to go into outer Almalexia just for a bit, and our deal will be forgotten. Have a pleasant evening."

* * *

All the guest houses and hostels in Godsreach were full, apparently with vacationers visiting the city, but they managed to find a room in the Winged Guar. Llovesi stood by the window, breathing in the night air, but she still felt trapped. Julan held her from behind, bringing a little comfort. It was amazing how she could have ever found this city beautiful. Sure, it was cleaner than Vvardenfell, the buildings more ornate, and it seemed all the citizens wandered around in the most fashionable cuts and colours of clothing, but it was to be their prison.

She sighed, and shut the window, but the scent of the flowers lingered on.

* * *

The next day, Llovesi had made up her mind. She was heading straight to a bookstore. If there was one thing she'd learnt from her early days in the Blades, it was the value of researching your enemies. If you can't beat them, join them; if you're forced to join them, learn about them.

They wandered though Plaza Brindisi Dorom in the early hours of the morning. People were just beginning to stir and coming to enjoy the park. Llovesi felt removed from them. They had chosen to be here after all, to sit in the shade of the trees, to listen to the fountain. They joined the crowd of early shoppers heading into the Great Bazaar. The store holders in the covered market were already hawking their wares.

"Fresh fruit, straight from the orchards!"

"Spices, jewels, come and sample the treasures of Mournhold."

"A dress for you, muthsera?"

"New swords, new shields for the adventurers, repairs done too!"

_There's always a strange contrast_, Llovesi though, as they dodged an enthusiastic seller, _between all this colour and excitement, and the piety of the temple. Same in Vivec._

Because all round the stalls the High Ordinators were keeping a stiff eye on proceedings. The Royal Guards patrolled too, although more than a few looks of animosity crossed between them and the Ordinators.

They passed a small outdoor theatre where a richly dressed actor was regaling the crowd with stories of Mournhold's glorious past.

"Mournhold, City of Light! City of Magic!"

One of the people in the crowd around the theatre gave them directions to a bookseller's.

"Sanaso Sarothran, sera, you won't find better in the whole of Almalexia!"

They followed the directions, and soon they were entering another green marble building, cool and airy on the inside, despite the shelves upon shelves of old books. A Dunmer man was leaning on the counter reading.

"Ser Sarothran?" Llovesi asked, confused, as Julan turned to examine the books on the shelves. She was sure Sanaso was a woman's name.

"She had to step out; I'm watching the shop. The name's Bedal Alen, sera. How may I be of assistance?" He spoke in that melodic way that all mainland Dunmer seemed to have, barely a hint of a rasp in their voices so far from the ash of Vvardenfell.

"We're tourists here, looking to learn more about the history of Mournhold, its Royal family–anything you have really."

"Hmm, let me see," Bedal rolled up his robe sleeves and headed to a nearby shelf.

"Well, many would argue that to truly get a hold on our new King _A Game at Dinner_ is essential. I never understood how it got published when it appeared a few months ago, but it appears the King and the Queen Mother actually started the publication process themselves. A short biography on Helseth, and you should also have the _Biography of Queen Barenziah–_"

"Not _The Real Barenziah_?" Julan asked, eyeing the volumes Bedal was pulling from the shelves.

"Ah," the man said, carefully placing the pile of books on the counter. "Of course officially the sale of that book is only on agreement of the Temple. Unofficially..."

He reached below the counter.

"I do happen to have the uncensored set. I can't sell them to you, but I'm happy to let you borrow them for a while. If you have any questions, I've heard the author actually spends his time around the Royal Court. Apparently he has managed to cultivate a friendship with the Queen Mother. Now, have _On Mournhold_, a short touristic guide to the city, and _The History of Almalexia_, which is far more in depth."

He set the books with the others on the counter.

"Does three hundred and fifty septims seem fair?"

Llovesi counted out the money and hoisted the books into her arms.

"Don't worry," she said catching Bedal's eye. "These muscles were made for carrying large amounts of books."

"You're not just tourists, are you?" he asked, his eyes drifting to her scars.

"Not exactly. Many thanks for your help, sera."

* * *

Plaza Brindisi Dorom was slowly filling up with young families and raucous teenagers, so Llovesi and Julan found a shady spot in the relative quiet of the Temple gardens.

_A Game at Dinner_ was a short story bound into a handsome leather cover. Llovesi read it through a couple of times, then snapped it shut. So Helseth was a poisoner. Perhaps. Even if the book's story wasn't true, he still seemed eager to cultivate that reputation. _A man who could teach Molag Bal how to scheme_... And now, just a few short months after the book was published, Prince Helseth of Wayrest was King Helseth of Morrowind.

She turned to the biography, while Julan read _The Real Barenziah _with round eyes.

"She was incredible! All the things she's done... "

"Maybe not counting her son," Llovesi said, opening _On Mournhold_.

Julan's face darkened. "You can say that again."

They hadn't properly discussed Mashti's death. In many ways, they didn't need words to express the feelings that went between them. And it had only been a few days, too soon to attempt to come to terms with it, especially given the new and sudden developments in the situation. Llovesi was now nearly sure that Mashti's murder had been an accident, it could have been anyone near to her, killed to incite her into coming to the city. It could have been Julan. She pushed the hideous thought from her mind. Accident, contrived coincidence, whatever it was, Heselth would answer for this callous manipulation, and she would find out why he really wanted her in the city.

A polite cough interrupted them. An old Dunmer, dressed in dirt and grass-stained clothes with his white hair swept back from his face, gestured politely to the bush behind Llovesi with his shears.

"If you'd be so kind muthsera, just need to do my pruning."

"Of course," Llovesi swept the books into her arms and stepped out of the way. "So, you're the gardener here?"

"Aye, that I am." The man set to snipping leaves off the bush. "Planted most of this meself. All the trees and plants, tended lawns and paths, are hymns of praise to Almalexia's name. It's humble work, sera, but I'm very proud of it."

"You should be." Llovesi glanced around the gardens, all carefully mowed lawns, green trees, arranged flowers and pruned shrubs. Then it occurred to her that such a labour of love must have taken quite some time to perfect, and he must have seen many changes...

"Have you worked here long?"

"Aye, must be nigh on fifty years now, and my wife keeps the Temple clean. The name's Ayvyn Varis, though most folks call me Gee-Pop and her Granny. And where do you hail from sera?"

"Vvardenfell. I'm here with my husband. Llovesi, and Julan." She nodded at Julan, still engrossed in his book. "We're here on holiday."

"Oh, I see. Yes, you have a touch of the old 'Vvardenfell rasp' as we call it. Still that's right nice. You picked a good time to come. Well, for the weather at least."

"Oh?" Llovesi leant inwards. Gee-Pop had stopped his pruning, a vaguely clouded look covering his face. Perhaps he would have the answers she needed. "Why is that? What's wrong? I've heard rumours. Is it... King Llethan's death?"

Gee-Pop glanced from side to side, then nodded almost imperceptibly. "He was old. But not that old. I'm far older, and it'd take me than a stiff breeze to knock me down. Maybe he just died, like they said. But maybe someone helped him along. And it's right worrying to me, so it is. May his spirit rest among his ancestors. Of course, he _was_ King in name only. You know we Dunmer do not, and never have, submitted to kings like the Westerners, no matter what the Empire says."

"So do people really think he was, well, murdered?" Llovesi asked, making her eyes as wide as possible.

Gee-Pop checked the area around them again, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a grubby piece of paper from his pocket.

"Found this when I was sweeping the steps yesterday, look."

It was a broadside sheet, and printed in bold letters across the top were the words 'The Common Tongue'. Then in smaller letters 'Issue no. 2', and a subtitle: "A poet can have no higher purpose than to tell the truth about the human condition. - Lord Vivec". But the headline of the main story jumped out at Llovesi: '**Mysteries** of the West'.

"It says in that article," Gee-Pop said, "that Helseth poisoned hundreds of people when he was in the West, so why not here? I'm sure they'd be inclined to agree over at Llethan Manor. And to tell you the truth, it's got us all worried. We don't have Kings, so a puppet one is just fine. But this Helseth, he seems ambitious. He's got ideas like, and if he's not afraid to bump off others to get his own way... we're headed for change. Not sure if for the best."

He glanced around again, then stowed his shears in his pocket.

"I've said too much. Helseth is King. Long live the King. If you'll excuse me, sera. Have a pleasant stay." He nodded to her and Julan, who'd put his book down and was standing up, then hurried away in the opposite direction.

Llovesi looked back at the paper's headline article.

"_I have a little list. They never would be missed_..._"_

Julan came to read over her shoulder.

"_Appearing at the top–three names–Anhar, Khajiit male, Martyrius Arruntius, Imperial male, Jusole Asciele, Breton male. What do these three names have in common? All three at one time or another represented an inconvenience to a Western noble prince named Helseth."_

There followed a description of what had happened to each man. Every time, it was noted, the coroner had ruled a natural death.

"_Some have quietly suggested that Prince Helseth was the most accomplished and subtle poisoner in the West. But The Common Tongue has never seen a scrap of evidence that would prove such an indictment. (Admittedly, the absence of such proof could count as qualifying towards the titles of a 'most accomplished and subtle poisoner'.)_

_"And further, The Common Tongue does not wish to suggest that King Helseth is a poisoner, or that the recent death of King Athyn Llethan's was a poisoning, and not a natural death. The Common Tongue has never seen a single scrap of evidence that would prove such an indictment. And the Imperial coroners have ruled that Aythn Llethan died a natural death."_

"Son of a scamp," Julan whispered. "He did it! He killed his great-uncle so he could be King!"

"Something doesn't add up though," Llovesi said, glancing at her copy of _A Game at Dinner_. "He must know he has this reputation. So, why send me to find out about these rumours?""

"Delitian wanted the _source_. Looks like you're holding it in your hands."

Llovesi folded The Common Tongue away. "And that's all he'll get. I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing that poor old man's name as well."

A few more unanswered questions niggled in the back of Llovesi's mind. _Why does Helseth even care about these rumours?_

_And why does he want me to find them out?_


	6. Long Live the King

**A/N: Thanks to those of you who reviewed since the last chapter! Ozymandeos: yup, my version of Tribunal will be pretty dark (not that the original game wasn't already pretty dark). There are more twists to go before the end but ones, I believe, that can be read from in game if you interpret events in a certain way. Saying no more for now! CampsMcCamper: Your reviews always make me smile. Holy bacon indeed! I'm really glad you're enjoying this! I can't promise an epic cliffhanger all the time, but hopefully you will continue to enjoy!**

* * *

_**Chapter 5: Long Live the King**_

Tienius Delitian was patrolling the courtyard, but he led Llovesi and Julan back into a secluded part of the guards' quarters when they arrived.

"Thank you for bringing me this copy of 'The Common Tongue'," he said, when he'd finished reading the paper. "I believe this is indeed the source of the rumours. I see no source or evidence for its speculation–just vague falsehoods. Thank you. Well done. I'll mention your loyal services and exceptional qualities to King Helseth. And I think we might find you further employment. For example, we lack sources of information in Almalexia's Temple. Could you help me find a Temple informant?"

"Why does Helseth care about these rumours?" Llovesi asked bluntly.

Delitian stared her down again. "All in good time, Llovesi. Now, will you do this?"

Llovesi wanted scream at him. Instead, she said: "you want me to go and recruit another spy, is that it? I thought that was mine and Julan's job?"

"Not as such. We just need information from a source inside Almalexia's Temple. There are rumours of discontent in the Temple. Go to Almalexia's Temple. Look for someone discontented. Listen sympathetically. And find out whether the Temple is willing to accept King Helseth–or whether the Temple plans to act against him."

"And does King Helseth intend to act against the Temple?"

Delitian's face was completely impassive. It was almost impressive how he did it. "King Helseth is a faithful member of both the Temple and the Imperial cult. But the Temple is the enemy of the Empire, and King Helseth is an Imperial in every sense of the word. Now, will you find an informant?"

His hand hovered almost imperceptibly near his sword.

"Fine," Llovesi said. "I'll be back before dinner."

"You're nothing if not efficient. You may yet earn the King's trust."

"Because that's what she really wants," Julan muttered as they left.

* * *

Julan was quiet again as they walked over to the Temple. Over the past few days he'd either been quiet, or making comments filled with barely-concealed rage. Her thumb hovered near the ring, but she stopped. She had to talk to him about this like an adult. But before she could open her mouth, he opened his.

"All I want to know is when this blackmail is going to stop."

"It's... hard to say, isn't it? Helseth presumably has us right where he wants us–in the palm of his hand."

They walked on in silence for a bit, then Llovesi stopped and took Julan's hand, turning him back to face her.

"Julan," she said, "we should talk. This really isn't fair on you. You haven't even had time to grieve properly. Perhaps there would be a way for you to return to Vvardenfell, and I can stay here until I find out what Helseth really wants. I've been the real target all along anyway."

"And that's precisely why I'm not leaving your side. What if Helseth decides that he'll kill you anyway, after you've finished running his little spying errands?"

He looked into the distance as if he were distracted, then sighed roughly.

"To be honest," he went on, "this is... distraction. I can focus on hating that bastard Helseth and–"

But he broke off, unable to continue. Llovesi pulled him into a hug.

"I let rage and grief combined take me once," she said. "Trust me, it isn't a good place to be."

"I know that. But it's helping."

He dropped her embrace and continued walking. Llovesi searched desperately for a change of subject.

"I don't know how the Temple will react to me just waltzing in," she said. "Sure, relationships are beginning to be mended, and I count friends among the priest and priestesses back on Vvardenfell, but I'll bet the majority of them here won't be too happy to see the Nerevarine Heretic, even if I did defeat their Devil."

"Almalexia probably wouldn't be too happy to see you either, given that she prized her stolen divinity." Julan snorted. "Everyone still believes she's got all her powers."

Then he choked suddenly.

"I just thought of something! Almalexia was Nerevar's wife! That means... you're married to Almalexia!"

"No it doesn't," Llovesi said flatly as they ascended the Temple steps. "I'm only married to one person, and that's you. I'm not Nerevar. If I am, somewhere inside of me, I'm still Llovesi first."

But Julan had made a good point, at first. How was Almalexia dealing with her mortality? She hadn't chosen it. It had been Llovesi, and Vivec, who'd chosen it for her...

"We're not going to get anywhere with me using the Nerevarine angle," Llovesi said. "But we can use the divided Temple angle. If there are those who agree with the Dissident priests inside, I'm sure they'd be glad for a sympathetic ear."

She almost couldn't believe what was coming out of her mouth. Because she wasn't here to sympathise, but to report back to Helseth. Then again, she'd been a spy for a long time now. Perhaps duplicity had become her second nature.

They passed a priestess asking visitors for donations, and entered the large entrance hall with the rest of the worshippers for evening prayer. The entrance hall was quiet, only an old woman who had to be Granny Varis sweeping the floor, and a Dunmer priest with a shaved head and wearing glass pauldrons who was lighting incense on a table. He looked up as Llovesi and Julan passed, and for a moment Llovesi thought she saw a glint of recognition in his eyes. But it passed, and his head was bent over the sweet-smelling sticks again.

They followed the worshippers as they entered a small side chapel, then broke off from the group and took a different corridor.

Deep inside the Temple now, its winding corridors were silent. Only a faint sound of singing echoed through the halls, like wind in a tunnel, as the evening prayer began. Every now and then the sound of metal on stone would indicate an approaching Ordinator, who always passed in silence.

Suddenly, a deep sigh drifted from a nearby open doorway. Llovesi and Julan peered in to see a tired-looking Dunmer woman in a blue robe sitting at a desk with her head in her hands. She jumped up as they entered.

"How can I help you, seras? Are you sick? Wounded perhaps?"

"I'm sorry?" Llovesi said.

"This is the infirmary, and I am the head healer." The woman indicated the beds in the room. Then, as was becoming customary, her eyes travelled to Llovesi's scars.

"Oh," she said, and turned back to her desk, avoiding their gaze. "You are the Nerevarine. How interesting."

"We wanted to talk to you. You seem unhappy," Julan said, but the woman simply frowned.

"What? Why do you say this? This is a mistake. You are a stranger, and one does not share ones doubts with strangers. I know what you are. You're an Ashlander - a faithless heathen. I don't want to talk about this with you."

"I'm not a stranger," Llovesi said gently, while Julan gritted his teeth. "You recognised me yourself. I'm working on improving my relationship with the Temple - I'm a friend, I promise."

The woman looked suspiciously at Llovesi, but she seemed to want to talk. "And him, can he be trusted?" she asked, jerking her head at Julan.

"Of course I can be trusted! I'm not going to run off to the priests and tell them your secrets, am I?" Julan said hotly.

The woman's lips twitched faintly, but she crossed the room and closed the door behind them.

"What's your name, muthsera?" Llovesi asked.

"Galsa Andrano. I've worked in this Temple for the last fifty years, and I'm beginning to grow... uneasy."

She glanced around as if she feared someone could be listening in.

"Over the years the Tribunal stopped walking among us, stopped listening and speaking with us. This worried me, and made me sad. Were our Gods abandoning us? Were they growing weak? But since Almalexia has lately come among us again, in the past few months or so, I feel more worry, not less. Her face glows brightly with hope and power, but her words seem dark and bitter.

"Almalexia's homilies are normally full of compassion, understanding, wisdom and acceptance. But now her sermons seem more intent on destroying the wicked, punishing the foolish, and rewarding the faithful–the unquestioning, obedient faithful. Yes, these are difficult times. And in difficult times, to survive, we must be hard. I tremble for the failing of my faith... but the God I once loved now frightens me."

The description faintly frightened Llovesi too. It reminded her of a certain Ordinator back on Vvardenfell, who had been so intent on destroying her in the Tribunal's name. But this was their _God_...

"How has this affected the Temple's relationship with the Palace?" she asked.

Galsa's expression darkened, and she shook her head, lowering her eyes.

"That's a different matter. I'm not sure I'm happy to talk about it."

"It does help to talk," Llovesi said. "I remember speaking about similar subjects with my friend Mehra Milo. She too felt uneasy with the Temple, but then she joined the Dissident Priests–"

Galsa looked up suddenly.

"You are a friend of Mehra Milo? She is my niece. Very well, I can speak freely. Helseth has murdered King Llethan and stolen his crown. It does not matter that King Llethan was a fool. He was _our_ fool. So long as the puppet king was a joke, we all could laugh and ignore him. Helseth is not a fool, and no one is laughing. If Helseth seeks in earnest to be king, then Almalexia and the Temple are sworn in earnest to destroy him."

She took a deep breath and laughed shakily. "In this opinion at least, we are united."

Llovesi glanced at Julan, at saw that he looked as shocked as she felt at the healer's outburst.

"It is hard to talk of such things," Galsa said, a little sheepishly. "I feel guilty, and disloyal, but in my heart, I know something is not right. It helps a little to be able to speak of it with you."

"That's good," Julan said. "Uh, we'd better go now."

"Of course. I hope you'll come and speak with me again."

* * *

They slipped out of the Temple with the last of the worshippers. Llovesi looked around for the bald-headed priest who'd given them such a piercing look earlier, but he was nowhere to be seen. She was glad for that, even if she didn't exactly know why. Maybe it was her guilt over her manipulation of Galsa.

Julan let out a long whistle of disbelief as they stepped into the night.

"From what she said, Mournhold's on the brink of civil war!" he said. "Maybe the bastards will both destroy each other. Still, I never thought I'd feel sympathetic toward the Temple!"

"The Temple yes... Almalexia, I'm not so sure," Llovesi replied. "I don't know who to trust anymore. As if I ever did. At least Vvardenfell wears its scars on its surface. Mournhold, I don't know," she cast a disgusted look around the gardens. "It just plants some pretty flowers and hopes that the smell will distract everyone from the guardung inside its walls."

She shivered.

"Let's report back, then go to bed. The sooner we can loosen Helseth's hold on us and get out of this place, the better. I feel like it's hard to breathe."

"Yes, well," Julan said. "There's nothing like the constant fear of war or death to keep you concentrated."

* * *

The next day was hotter than the last. Llovesi felt the sun beat strongly on the back of her neck as they made their way to a secluded inner courtyard of the Royal Palace, where Tienius Delitian had requested to meet them the night before.

"There you are," he said briskly as they entered the small garden. "Now you can help us with another matter. King Helseth is concerned about possible disloyalty among the Guards."

"Straight to business then," Llovesi said, her voice dripping with sarcasm while Julan crossed his arms.

"That attitude helps no one, least of all yourself. Now, I've replaced many of the former King's guards with more reliable men. But I had to keep some experienced guards, and I can't be certain of their loyalties. I will pretend you wish to join the Royal Guards. That's your excuse for talking to the guards, sounding them out, and looking for evidence of disloyalty. If you find any hint of treason or evidence of disloyalty, report it to me. Take no action. Report to me, and I will judge what action is appropriate."

"You want _me_ to pretend I want to join the guards?" Llovesi asked. "They'll never believe that! Not in a month of Sundases! Not even Mephala herself could convince them–I'm the Nerevarine! Why would I want to be a Royal Guard for Azura's sake?"

Delitian just shrugged. "If not you, then him," he said, pointing at Julan, who promptly gaped. "I don't care which of you does it, just get it done."

"Well, there must be hundreds of Royal Guards! Are there any in particular you want me to talk to?"

"It's _your_ judgement I'm testing, not mine. Talk to them yourself. Form your own conclusions. Oh, and be sure _not_ to mention your Hlaalu connections."

To Llovesi's astonishment, he actually winked, before turning and leaving them in the garden.

"Well," Julan said glumly. "Guess I'd better start thinking of a cover story involving House Hlaalu then. I've always wanted to be a morally corrupt noble."

* * *

Julan tried to run his hand through his hair unconsciously, but his fingers met only the bare skin of his neck.

Llovesi had swept all of his hair into a topknot; a style they had often seen in the towns on Vvardenfell. His neck felt strangely naked without it's reassuring weight.

_I'll never understand why the settled idiots wear their hair this stupid way_.

He felt strangely naked too without his normal armour. He had agreed with Llovesi that he shouldn't look too successful and have his motives for joining questioned, but he missed his glass armour. It had moulded to fit him comfortably over the months. This new leather cuirass felt stiff and smelt like a blacksmith's armpit. His new pants itched, but Llovesi had said they suited him.

Llovesi. He felt a pang in his chest as he thought of her waiting for him in the courtyard of the Palace. Of course, she could handle herself, hells; she'd saved his skin enough times. But he didn't like the thought of her waiting alone while that bastard Helseth wanted her dead.

But that was a painful line of thought in itself. Helseth. The reason he'd had to bury mother, just a few short days ago. He didn't like to admit it to anyone when he was in pain; he thought it made him seem weak. Llovesi was just about the only person he could talk to. But the pain felt as if it might tear him in two. It hurt even worse than that moment in the Cavern of the Incarnate when he'd thought Llovesi might leave him forever. What he was doing now added the worst kind of insult to an already smarting injury.

_As soon as we're done playing Helseth's stupid games, he'll have me to answer to_, Julan thought, and felt the anger numb the pain slightly.

He ran through his disguise in his head as he made his way through the Palace to the guards' quarters.

_I'm Neven Bero, loyal supporter of the monarchy, unsatisfied with my guard job in Vivec, come to serve here_...

Even thinking it made his skin crawl.

He'd reached the guards' quarters. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Five guards were sitting at the long table, eating their lunch: four Dunmer, two female, two male, and an older looking Imperial man. It was the latter that stood up when Julan entered the room.

"Who are you?" he barked. "Lost?"

"My name's Neven Bero," Julan said, keeping his eyes on the Dunmer guards, one of whom had looked vaguely interested at his name. "I'm actually here to join the Royal Guards."

"Well, it's Tienius Delitian you'll want to speak to about that," the gruff Imperial continued. "He's our Captain, should be on duty in the throne room, or patrolling the main courtyard."

"Oh no, I've already spoken to Delitian," Julan replied quickly. "He says I can join, provided I get to know the existing guards. If I fit in well, I'm hired."

"Hmm... then welcome, friend. My name is Drusus Gratus. My father had the honour to serve King Helseth and Queen Barenziah in Wayrest. My family has served the Queen for three generations. I don't know your qualifications, but I presume you've satisfied Captain Delitian, or we wouldn't be talking."

He glanced at the table.

"I have to go make my rounds now, but please do sit up and lunch with Evo, Aleri, Diradeni and Ivulen. It's corkbulb and trama root stew. Vvardenfell speciality of course but I presume you'll enjoy that, if I'm placing your accent correctly."

Julan's stomach growled as he helped himself to stew from the pot, but he made sure to keep focused on the other guards. They all seemed unconcerned with him, though, so he relaxed slightly. It would be stupid to act jumpy.

"So, what brings you to this gig?" the younger male Dunmer with the edgy mohawk asked.

"Was a guard in Suran for a bit," Julan replied, just as casually, "but wanted more of a challenge. So I came over here."

"Well, I guess you got lucky. Don't know much about the job yet myself, I'm new too as it happens, but it seems like things round here are heating up."

"Ah yes," Julan tried to look as if he'd just realised. "So, how is King Helseth to work for?"

The mer just shrugged, but the older female Dunmer spoke up, talking slowly as she pushed her stew around her plate.

"I've been a Royal Guard all my life, and so was my mother and her mother. I served King Llethan for many years, and now I'll serve King Helseth. Long live the King, and long live the Emperor."

Her speech sounded more than a little rehearsed to Julan, but before he could reply, the younger female Dunmer snorted, and tossed her plaits back.

"Sit on the fence, why don't you Aleri?" She turned to Julan, jabbing the table with her finger as she spoke. "King Llethan was a joke king. King Helseth is a real king. I like to be on the winning side, and King Helseth looks like winning to me."

The final mer, an older-looking guy with rich auburn hair, looked up at this, and an annoyed expression crossed his face.

"You hear folks say old King Llethan was a fool," he said to Julan, shooting a nasty look at the younger mer. "Well, folks should keep their mouths shut. Maybe he was a fool, but lots of folk are fools. Maybe he had no business being a king, but that's what he was, so folk should show some respect to the old fellow."

"And what do you think of King Helseth?" Julan asked him.

"It's an honour... to serve... It is my honour to serve King Helseth and Queen Barenziah. That's right. Just what I said. An honour–"

Aleri suddenly seemed to choke on a piece of stew, and her fit stopped the mer in his speech. Julan had to fight from rolling his eyes. Honestly, they had no hope. He'd had enough. He was fed up. The pants still itched, the stew wasn't as good as he'd hoped, and these idiots couldn't even hide their loyalties. Why was Helseth even worried about them?

"Yes, I hope to serve King Helseth as well as I served my uncle in House Hlaalu," he said.

The reaction round the table was palpable. The older Dunmer with the red hair sat up suddenly, Aleri averted her eyes, and the other two both frowned.

"Hmm, I thought your name sounded familiar," the mer with the mohawk said. "Dram Bero's nephew are you? Nothing wrong with House Hlaalu, of course. Not sure they're very happy about King Helseth succeeding their King Llethan, even if Helseth has joined their House. But no point in hiding it from Tienius Delitian. He's bound to find out sooner or later, so you might as well tell him straight off."

The younger female mer, who had to be Diradeni, nodded in agreement. "I don't think it's important. But you should mention it to Tienius Delitian, if you haven't already. He doesn't like surprises."

The older male Dunmer slammed his fist on the table suddenly, and everyone turned to stare at him.

"No!" he said, then looked sheepish. "I mean... maybe you shouldn't tell Tienius Delitian. What he doesn't know can't hurt him, and why would you want to hurt him? I mean, don't tell him okay? But Aleri here might be interested so maybe you should talk later with Aleri–"

He quailed suddenly under the look Aleri was giving him.

"Ivulen doesn't know what he's talking about," she said firmly. "He's not the brightest star in the sky, he gets confused sometimes. My ancestors have all been Hlaalu... but my primary loyalty, of course, is to King Helseth. Come on Ivulen, we're on duty in the throne room." She glared at Ivulen again and he followed her from the room, his head hanging like a small child's.

Diradeni snorted loudly.

"You can see why Helseth brought some of us old lot with him, can't you?" she said to Julan and Evo. "Cos all King Llethan's old guards are complete nutters. Maybe they all cracked when the old King died. Bet Helseth's real glad to have new blood around."

"I bet," Julan murmured.

* * *

Llovesi was sitting reading _The Real Barenziah_ on a bench in the leafy main courtyard of the palace when the sound of footsteps alerted her to Julan's return.

"How did it go?" she asked, snapping the book shut.

"Well enough," Julan replied, sitting next to her. "I just... don't understand why Helseth needs us to investigate this. Aleri Alen and Ivulen Irano were about as convincing as a mudcrab dressed up as a guar."

Llovesi sighed. "But we can't prove that he knows. I highly doubt we'll ever even meet the man. He'll just keep on using us. Did you find any evidence, anyway?"

Julan frowned. "Nothing hard, but I'm sure it's those two. I could sneak into the dormitory and have a look around–if you cause a distraction."

* * *

It was easy enough for Llovesi to start the fire. She gathered all the copies of 'The Common Tongue' they had found, set them in a pile outside the guards' quarters, and let the flames jump from her fingers to the parchment.

"Fire! Fire!" she shouted, and heard the sound of running boots. She recalled to her Mark in the Palace courtyard, and sent a single thought to Julan with her telepathy ring.

_Go._

Then she waited.

And waited.

_Julan will be fine, he can cast a good chameleon spell, he's far better at his than me, he'll be fine_...

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a hand grabbed her, and she had the very strange experience of looking through Julan as he spoke to her.

"Llovesi I got... well, I think it might be something. Wait, let me just dispel this..."

A shower of white sparks stripped him of his chameleon disguise. He held a piece of paper out to her.

"Look," he said. "I found this tucked in Ivulen Irano's possessions."

Llovesi scanned it. The handwriting was almost illegible, but she could make it out as some sort of schedule.

"Here," Julan pointed. "There're lots of misspellings. Drusus Gratus's name is spelt Drustus and Drusis, Evo Othreloth is also Evo Othroleth... but Milvela Dralen, Aleri Alen and Ivulen's names are always spelt the same–"

"–and when all three are alone in the Throne Room their names have been underline twice," Llovesi whispered, and swallowed. So there really was a plot to kill Helseth, however half-baked. It wasn't really surprising though, given what she was coming to learn about the man. "Let's get this to Delitian then."

* * *

**A/N: So I decided to try something a little different there, switching to Julan's perspective. It was quite fun trying to get into his 'voice' Hopefully it worked! It won't be the last time, anyway!**


	7. The Warning

**A/N: Thanks to Ozymandeos and krikanalo for your reviews on the last chapter! The Helseth issue is a thorny problem that I somewhat address in this chapter but then, maybe things will change again. A lot can happen in a Mournhold day...**

* * *

_**Chapter 6: The Warning**_

"This is Ivulen Irano's handwriting on the note you found. He notes the watches when Dralen, Aren, and him are the only guards in the Throne Room. I believe I'll change the watch schedules to prevent that. And I'll need to keep a close eye on all three. Very shrewd work, Llovesi–"

"It was all Julan, _actually_."

Tienius Delitian didn't break his stride. "Very shrewd work, Julan. King Helseth will hear what an asset _both_ of you are. Now I need your help finding evidence of conspiracy against King Helseth among the Hlaalu nobles..."

In bed that night, Llovesi tossed and turned beneath the sheets, before lying poker-straight, staring up at the plain stone ceiling. It was no use. She slipped out of bed so not to wake Julan, and padded across the cool floor to the window.

She undid the latch slowly, then pushed the window open and breathed in the night air. Below her, the street was nearly empty. But it wasn't late, and was still a pleasant Sun's Height evening. Were the people of Mournhold acting more warily, or was she just imagining it?

Llovesi sighed and sunk onto her elbows on the sill. All those scenes of happy families, a vibrant shopping district–Mournhold in the summer had pulled the cloth over her eyes. It had seduced her at the beginning, despite herself and what she had been feeling, and hidden its worst faults. Now, she was caught in its midst, a dartwing in the centre of the spider's web.

Thoughts of the Dark Brotherhood filled her mind. A Dunmer woman, desperately clawing at an arrow in her throat as her eyes bulged. A man, falling to his knees as his throat spilled blood upon the ground. These images, and more, swum before her sleep-deprived eyes.

_Why did I kill them? They weren't the ones who killed Mashti. They were innocent. _No, they weren't innocent. They were assassins. _But did that mean I had the right to kill them? Now, because of my impulsiveness, we're stuck here. And their souls will haunt me from Oblivion_... _as do the ones from the times I killed rashly before. Back in Vvardenfell, and Cyrodiil..._

"Can't sleep?"

Julan had stirred behind her, the sheets falling to his waist as he sat up.

"No. You too?"

He kicked the sheets off and came to join her by the window. "No. Hardly surprising, is it? This, what we've been asked to do now, it's sick. That poor woman... If I was her I'd want revenge for my husband's death."

"But what can we do?" Llovesi whispered into the night. "We have no power here."

"We could run..."

Llovesi spun round so her back was to the window, and looked into Julan's eyes.

"And how would far we get, do you think? I agree with you, I really do, but this isn't some cave with some rogue wizards. We thought about running before and decided against it, because if we had to fight Helseth's guard, we'd be on the wrong side of the law. He'd make it so we were on the wrong side of the law."

"He'll pay for this. I don't know how, but I'll make him pay. Everything he's done..."

Llovesi squeezed Julan's arms, and turned back to watch the silent street below.

_He would pay. But how?_

_She'd come to realise that she wouldn't kill him._

_Couldn't._

_Because then she would be just like him._

* * *

Llethan Manor was found only a few streets away from the tavern, in a spacious square with many other impressive looking buildings, all with arch-shaped stained-glass windows and tall sloping roofs. A few flowers were wilting in a bouquet by the doorstep.

Llovesi sighed, and stepped forward to knock on the door.

A Bosmer woman opened it, her shoulder length hair brushing briskly against the pauldrons of her Bonemold armour as she did so.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I've come to pay my respects to Ser Ravani Llethan," Llovesi said.

The Bosmer looked her up and down carefully. "Very well," she said. "I'll show you through."

She held the door open for Llovesi, who bowed her head and stepped respectfully into the manor. She felt Julan slip in behind her, invisible.

Ravani Llethan seemed encumbered by weariness as she sat at her desk reading. She placed the letter down and turned to face Llovesi as she entered the room. She was just a frail old woman in a faded robe, her hair as unkempt as the room she inhabited.

"Please," she said. "Leave me alone with my grief."

"I'm Llovesi, serjo. The Nerevarine. I've come to pay my respects and offer my condolences."

The woman got to her feet a little unsteadily, and made her way across the room to Llovesi, before grasping her hands.

"Bless your honourable soul. Few enough have come to pay their respects, let alone strangers such as you. People forget their friends when the wind changes."

"And the wind has changed, hasn't it, serjo?" Llovesi asked gently. She could feel, more than see, Julan making his way across the room to the desk.

Ravani's face suddenly creased as she burst into angry sobs.

"They murdered him. Helseth and his spiders. Everyone knows, and no one lifts a finger. Imperial justice! Hah! I _spit_ on Imperial justice! They killed my husband, and now that wicked man is king. I curse Helseth, and all his kin! May they die tomorrow, weeping, watching their children die today! Everyone knows. It's there in print, for everyone to see, in 'The Common Tongue'. It says Helseth poisoned hundreds of people when he was in the West. If Helseth was a wicked murderer before, why not now?"

The letter Ravani had been reading on the desk floated briefly into the air before disappearing. A few subtle white sparks told Llovesi that Julan was gone.

"Ravani," she said quickly and sincerely, "if you'll permit me to call you that. I can promise that I will get to the bottom of your husband's death, and Helseth shall get what he deserves."

Ravani seemed to manage a faint smile as she wiped tears from her cheeks.

"Bless you. May fortune smile on your blade. There are those among my husband's friends who will not rest until justice is done. I shall mention your name to them."

This caught Llovesi's attention, but she didn't have the heart to pry any further. Julan had taken the letter; that meant they were done disturbing this woman's peace. She politely said her farewells, then left to join Julan at the Winged Guar.

He was waiting at a table in the near-empty bar-room; nervously drumming his fingers while the Khajiit barman wiped down tankards behind the bar. Two matzes sat on the table in front of Julan, along with the letter.

Llovesi grabbed one, glad for the cool liquid. The day was starting to become even more stifling than the last, and the crowds of people who jostled for a look at her in the streets had made the walk over become even more arduous. She wished her magicka was more reliable, and not for the last time.

"Just read it," Julan said, as Llovesi finished gulping her drink down.

She took the letter.

_Forven,_

_I cannot agree. I am a merchant, and have no skill at arms. You are a noble, and in your prime were proven on practice and tournament grounds–though, in truth, you have never fought a duel, and have few gifts as a liar. No one can doubt Hloggar the Bloody's aptitude and enthusiasm for mayhem, but he is not a subtle man, more suited for a brawl or battlefield than an assassin's role._

_And we cannot trust the Dark Brotherhood. Helseth owns them. They promise discretion, but their promises are worthless._

_I am afraid we must approach the Morag Tong. I agree with you. They will probably refuse. But at least they can be trusted to be discreet._

_If, in the end, we are forced to choose among ourselves, I fear it must be you. And we will have to wrack our brains for some plausible pretext that will get you into Helseth's presence._

_I am disappointed, though not surprised, at the lack of public outcry over Athyn's murder. The popular sentiment seems to be to avoid personal risk and accept Helseth. It's short-sighted, but understandable. I have noted, however, that the writer of 'The Common Tongue' is sympathetic to our cause, clever and eloquent. He may be able to sway opinion. We should try to identify this fellow and try to bring him into our counsels._

_Your faithful servant, Bedal Alen_

The name jumped out at her like a slap in the face. _Bedal Alen_. The bookseller's friend. He was involved in a plot to kill the king. She didn't recognise the other names, but it shocked her how such a normal man could be the author of such a letter. How people had been driven to such extremes. Or maybe he wasn't the man he appeared; maybe he really was a House Hlaalu schemer. But the other men too?... Forven was a Dunmer name, but Hloggar the Bloody? _Well, If Yngling Half-Troll can be a councillor... _she reminded herself.

Julan snapped her from her reverie.

"What do you reckon our next job will be to put a bump on the writer of 'The Common Tongue'?" he asked, only half-sarcastically.

"I suppose we'd better go and find out," Llovesi said glumly, slipping the letter into her satchel.

"Unfortunate for these men though," Julan said, as they stood to go. "Unfortunate that we're powerless to help them, I mean. Gah, I hate this!"

* * *

Tienius Delitian was on duty alone in the Throne Room. Llovesi entered apprehensively, but with determination. She was almost disappointed to see that the plush, upholstered throne itself was empty.

The guard captain seemed to have caught her look.

"When the King wishes to hold audience with you, he will. I assure you," he said. "Now. What evidence have you managed to uncover?"

Llovesi handed him the letter silently.

He studied it at length, his face perfectly expressionless.

"This is very interesting. Forven Berano, Hloggar the Bloody, and Bedal Alen are obviously conspiring to assassinate King Helseth. I will immediately draw up writs for their execution–"

"Execution!?" Julan shouted.

Tienius Delitian gave him a long look.

"Yes, execution. As I informed you and your wife a few days ago, this is treason, punishable by death."

"You didn't kill us! Even though I _had_ no intention to kill the King," Llovesi seethed.

"They, unlike you, cannot be of service to our King. And I'll remind you, yet again, to watch your tone. You will find Helseth far more beneficial as an ally than an enemy. Now," he continued, talking over Llovesi and Julan's sounds of protest, "There is one more matter that you will help us with. I want you to find the anonymous writer of 'The Common Tongue'."

"Hah," Julan said quietly. Tienius Delitian ignored him.

"The vague falsehoods in this broadsheet encourage the people to think King Helseth is a poisoner, and that he poisoned Athyn Llethan. First we want you to ask around and discover who is writing these lies. Then we want you to find him and persuade him to stop printing lies. The manner of the persuasion is left to your discretion. You _will_ be discreet, of course. We don't want to appear to be threatening the time-honoured Imperial traditions of encouraging free speech."

"Of course," Llovesi said. "That's why you're going to control what goes into the papers."

"I'm glad you understand," Delitian said.

"But Helseth _is _a poisoner," Julan protested. "We've all read _A Game at Dinner_! Why does he care so much about this reputation now, for Azura's sake?"

"Consider, perhaps, that the reputation of a prince and the reputation of a king are two different things. A published book and a sheet of false accusations are different things as well. Of course, I take your point. King Helseth _is_ a skilled alchemist and student of bodily processes. But it won't do to have people referring to our sovereign as a common poisoner, will it?"

He turned his back, the matter apparently closed.

Llovesi seethed for a while more in silence, then horror dawned upon her. She grabbed Julan's arm, and practically pulled him from the room.

"What is it?" he asked, once they were back in the corridor.

"Bedal Alen, Hloggar the Bloody and Forven whatever-his-name was–we have to warn them. We have to let them escape before, before–I'll not have their blood on our hands. We're not that powerless. We'll show him."

They set off at a run towards the Market District.

"I only hope Bedal Alen knows where the others can be found," Llovesi panted as they pushed past surprised shoppers in the crowd.

They burst into the bookseller's shop. A woman with dark cropped hair was talking to Bedal Alen by the counter. They both looked round in bewilderment at the sudden intrusion into the shop.

"S–Ser B–Bedal," Llovesi panted as she grasped her knees in an effort to get her breath back. "I–I have come to–to warn you."

"Nerevarine?" Bedal Alen asked, walking round the counter to her while Sanaso Sarothran looked on apprehensively. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Helseth has evidence of your conspiracy, and there has been a writ issued for your execution," Julan said quickly.

Bedal didn't ask them how they knew, didn't demand an explanation, or panic. Instead he nodded, simply and sadly.

"I feared this would happen. I thank you for warning me. I will absent myself from this city immediately. And I would die before I'd betray your generosity to me. Sanaso," he turned back to the shocked woman at the counter. "You have been more of a friend to me than most would in this damnable place. I will never forget your generosity either, and I will find a way to get word to you when I reach my family in Narsis."

"Wait, sera!" Llovesi said. "Hloggar the Bloody and the other man, Forven, I need to find them to warn them too!"

He looked astounded. "You would do that? I understand Hloggar lives in the west sewers, under Godsreach. Forven Berano lives in Godsreach as well, but I believe he takes an afternoon walk in the Temple gardens. As time is of the essence, perhaps you should look for him there. Now I must go."

He raised his hands as if to cast an incantation. Llovesi remembered one last thing, and hurriedly pulled the books from her bag.

"Your copies of _The Real Barenziah_," she said, and laid them upon the counter. "Would that the King was more like his mother."

Bedal smiled, and took them. "Would that he was," he whispered, and vanished.

* * *

Llovesi and Julan ran as if all the Royal Guards in the city were on their heels and, for all they knew, they could be. Had Delitian signed the warrants yet? Were guards already coming to take these men away? Llovesi's determination mainly stemmed more from the desire to save lives, but if she could do this, if she could get one over Helseth...

She and Julan split up, opting to cover more ground and save time. She ran to the Temple District, while Julan headed for Gosdreach and the sewers. The districts in Mournhold had never seemed bigger as Llovesi finally wheezed her way into the Temple gardens. It was the heat, she decided, and even though she and Julan had taken to leaving their armour in the Winged Guar to avoid the worst of it, she still wasn't used to this humidity that stuck her shirt to her back with every step. _That, and maybe I'm out of practice with all this running around. I had thought my 'adventuring' days over before this week_.

The Temple gardens were big, but they were also practically empty. It appeared that the people of Mournhold preferred to take a casual stroll away from the watchful eye of the Temple. That meant Llovesi didn't have to look far to see a Dunmer noble man who had to be Forven Berano.

Unfortunately, he also happened to be talking to a Royal Guard.

Llovesi's heart jumped into her mouth. Either they were just passing the time of day or she was too late. But she didn't have to be. What she needed was a distraction. Well, if the same thing could work twice in two days... She looked around, quickly forming a plan while she formed flames at her fingertips.

* * *

Julan couldn't decide what he hated more: Nords or sewers. The latter was disgusting, sure, but so was the former if you caught them on a bad day. Which was most days. Still, at least Nords didn't stick to your boots. But this particular Nord was proving hard to find. Which was the sewers' fault, so he decided that they were the most hated, for the moment.

He trudged grumpily through the filthy water, if you could even call it that. This was all Helseth's fault. Helseth and his power-hungry paranoia. Honestly, if he thought a book-seller, a noble and a Nord who liked to hang out in sewers posed a threat, then he was more dangerously insane than Sheogorath upon seeing someone else with a beard. But he was still going to get the guar-faced son of a scamp, if it was the last thing he did...

Julan's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps splashing through the sewage. He drew an arrow back, but the arrival of the creature nearly made him drop it in shock.

It was short and hulking, a scamp-sized brute with thick, green skin and short pointed ears. Fangs protruded from its elongated jaw, but it was also carrying a dagger and makeshift shield. Julan got over his shock, and let the arrow fly. It caught the creature in the shoulder, but it kept coming at him, grunting and jabbering, its yellow eyes narrowed.

Suddenly, more of the creatures appeared, jumping up from the water and launching themselves over barrels. Julan loosed another arrow and the first creature fell, but another one flew at him, knocking him down into the muck.

He kicked it off, but not before it had got in a good swipe at his face with its long claws. Julan back-pedalled; dropping his bow and healing himself with one hand, while in the other hand he prepared a powerful summoning spell.

There was a shower of white sparks to his right, and the Golden Saint walked calmly into existence, before drawing her sword and decapitating one of the approaching beasts just as serenely. Julan sighed in relief, before drawing his own sword and joining in the battle. He had been practising the theory of the spell for a while, but hadn't wanted to debut it in front of Llovesi, just in case something went wrong and he embarrassed himself. But the Saint was making quick work of the strange creatures. When the last one was defeated, she turned her impassive face to Julan, and he dismissed her with another spell.

He sighed irritably as he looked at the corpses around him. He still hadn't found Hloggar the Bloody, and now he was covered in... well, surely somewhere Namira was smiling.

Then from behind him came a great thudding sound.

He barely had a moment to turn before the creature was upon him, and everything went dark.

* * *

All it took was a snap of her wrist and the dry leaves of the tree went up in flames. Then Llovesi ran, as hard as she could, as if she were running for her life, although she was running for someone else's, directly at the guard talking with the noble.

"S–sera!" she gasped. "A fire! Over there!"

Both men looked round in surprise, seeing the great orange flames spread to the grass and blacken the flowers. The guard swore and readied a frost spell in his hands.

"Please stay here, serjo," he shot to the noble as he ran in the direction of the flames. "Our business is not concluded."

Llovesi didn't wait, tackling the nobleman behind a bush, firmly covering his mouth with her hand.

"Listen carefully," she whispered, "because I do not know how much time I've bought us. Are you Forven Berano?"

The man's eyes turned from shocked to angry, and he began making indignant noises beneath her hand, but he nodded.

"Then I've just saved your life."

The noises stopped.

"Helseth knows. He has issued a warrant on your life. Get out of this city while you still can."

The eyes turned from angry to afraid. She released him and he spluttered, pulling himself to his feet and an amulet from inside his rich shirt.

"Oh, Gods, _thank _you!" he gasped, and she was surprised to hear a Cyrodiilic accent, much like her own used to be. It seemed out of place with the Mournhold fashions he wore.

"Blessings of the Nine, and Almsivi, and anything else you like!" Forven continued to gasp. "Thank Gods I have this recall amulet. I'll be gone instantly–and I assure you, I will never betray your mercy."

He vanished, and Llovesi picked herself up and darted away, knowing that one very unhappy Royal Guard would soon be returning.

* * *

Julan woke to see a bushy blond beard and a pair of blue eyes staring him in the face. He jumped backwards and scrambled to his feet as fast as he could.

The owner of the eyes and beard, a blond Nord in steel armour watched him with a frown.

"Thought you were a goner there, pal. Them sludgepuppies can pack a mean punch."

The Nord glanced to one side, and Julan saw the creature that had attacked him, lying in a pool of its own blood. It looked like the unholy love child of a Nix-Hound and a Clannfear, green scales, thick fangs, several mean red eyes that now stared, unseeing, into space. A long tail like a slaughterfish's snaked out behind it.

"Sludgepuppy?" Julan asked hesitantly, bending down to retrieve his bow from the muck.

"Aye, or Durzog if you prefer. Even meaner than their goblin trainers. Beasty had you down, but I guess there's more to you than meets the eye, pal. Now, mind telling me what's bringing you down here?"

"Are you Hloggar the Bloody?"

The Nord narrowed his eyes and his hand floated to his mace. "How'd you be coming across that name?"

"I've come to tell you, Helseth–"

But on the name Helseth, the Nord roared furiously and swung his mace at Julan's head. Julan ducked and rolled to one side.

"Listen you blithering idiot!" he roared back from the ground as the Nord raised his mace for another blow. "I'm not here to fight you, I'm here to save you!"

Hloggar the Bloody lowered his mace slowly. "Huh?" he said. "I don't get it. Don't you want to fight?"

"No! Helseth has issued a warrant on your life. I'm here to tell you to get away."

Slow realisation dawned on the Nord's face, and he reached down a hand to Julan.

"I see–you're one of the _good _guys! Sure. I understand. So now I got to get lost. Fast, right?"

Julan gave him a withering look as he shook slime from his bow.

"Okay," Hloggar continued, almost happily. "Good thing I'm knowing which tunnels lead out of this city huh? So long, pal... and thanks."

He took off at a run, leaving Julan to roll his eyes and recall back to the Palace courtyard, where Llovesi would hopefully be waiting to join him.

* * *

"So you did it?" Llovesi asked.

"I did. You?" _She doesn't need to know the exact details_, Julan thought.

"Yes." Llovesi jumped onto Julan and hugged him, ignoring the fact that he looked like he'd been swimming in the sewers. There was plenty of time for a bath later.

"We did it," she whispered again, ecstatically. Maybe the disappearance of the three men could still be spun to Helseth's advantage, but still there were now three men walking free, three men who wouldn't taste the bite of Helseth's poison.

It was only a small victory, but it mattered. And if they could find the anonymous writer of 'The Common Tongue', perhaps they could turn that situation to their advantage too. Then Helseth would realise that she wasn't a pawn, but the opposing player. An opponent to be reckoned with.


	8. Freedom of the Press

**A/N: Thanks to CampsMcCamper, Ozymandeos and OnnaMusha for your reviews on the last chapter. Llovesi and Julan may not yet know how to deal with what Mournhold and its inhabitants throw at them, but the cogs start turning a little faster in this chapter... As an aside this chapter is later today because it took me for ever to get DocManager to accept the changes. Curse my terrible internet!**

* * *

_**Chapter 7: Freedom of the Press**_

The papers fluttered in the wind and flew into the air as if they were a newly released flock of butterflies, eager to find their freedom. Llovesi reached down and picked one up.

'The Common Tongue, Issue no. 3': the bold title was proudly emblazoned across the top of the yellowed parchment.

'A **Terror** Below the Surface?' it asked.

Llovesi glanced at Julan, and began to read out loud:

"_I have a little secret. It is common knowledge._

_"Knowledge is power. Knowledge is common to us all. And, every citizen in Mournhold knows about the secret dangers that lurk beneath our streets._

_"But now 'The Common Tongue' has received reports that goblins have been sighted in Godsreach, on our streets. The goblins are becoming bolder, and if reports of the trained Durzogs they keep below the streets in Old Mournhold are to be believed, they are becoming cleverer._

_"What could have caused such a change? Two names. Yarnar and Armion. These names are common knowledge. An Altmer drillmaster and an Altmer warrior, both members of King Helseth's entourage in Wayrest. But what has become of the pair since King Helseth's relocation to Mournhold? This is a little secret. But it is common knowledge that both Altmer were known for their innovative techniques in training animals for use in battle._

_"'The Common Tongue' does not wish to suggest that King Helseth is raising a goblin army. There is absolutely no evidence to suggest an attempt to liaise or work with the goblins below the streets. And there is no evidence to suggest that the disappearance of the King's military strategists is in any way linked to a rise in goblin activity. Although our King is known for his ambition, there is nothing to suggest that these events are anything but a coincidence._

_"Besides, it is common knowledge that the only dangers in Mournhold lurk below our streets."_

Llovesi lowered the broadsheet again. "Well, they're really trying to scare people now."

Julan snorted. "A goblin army? I don't think I've ever heard something so ridiculous." But his voice was a little uncertain.

He reached to take the paper, but as his fingers brushed over the title, the ink smudged. He rubbed finger and thumb together thoughtfully, the black ink staining them.

"Ink's still a bit wet," he said. "These can't have been printed long ago."

Llovesi watched as the papers danced across the cobbles of the Great Bazaar, darting through the crowd, smacking into the pet scribs and pack rats being sold by a nearby street trader. He shook their leashes irritably, and the papers continued on their journey.

"There're so many of them," she said. "Whoever is printing them must have access to some sort of facility. I wonder... if I wanted to get something professionally printed in Mournhold, a book perhaps, or a newspaper for the public interest–where would I go?"

"I'd go to the Craftsmen's Hall." The unfamiliar voice piped up behind them, making them both jump. It was the Breton pet-seller. He gestured the leads at them, almost desperately. "Pets or meat–can I interest either of you in a fine scrib or rat today?"

"Er, no thank you," Llovesi said quickly. "What was that you were saying about the Craftsmen's Hall?"

The man looked slightly bashful. "I didn't mean to overhear, but if you're looking to get something printed, that's where I'd look. It's in the eastern parts of Godsreach, near all the museums, restaurants and taverns–it's where all the tradespeople work–enchanters, blacksmiths, tailors, and I bet publishers too. You're sure I can't interest you in–"

"Really quite sure," Llovesi said, folding the broadsheet and stowing it in her pocket.

The man slumped sadly. "It's all the same. All this work into training them, and no one wants to buy... Maybe it's the weather, there's some oppressive atmosphere around for sure. Still, Merchants' Festival in a few days, got to keep my hopes up..." He glanced up suddenly. "Say, you look awfully familiar–"

But Llovesi and Julan were long gone.

* * *

The Craftsmen's Hall was less a hall, more a large complex of the green-stone buildings surrounding a courtyard. Llovesi and Julan entered the main building: a din of shouts and footsteps, the sound of hammers on anvils, and a melting pot for the scents of tanning vats, coals, and the very sharp and particular scent of magic.

There were many doors leading away from the large main hall so, not knowing which way to turn, Llovesi approached the Dunmer clerk working behind the desk towards the back of the hall.

"Excuse me," she said. "I'm looking for your printing or publishing facilities?"

The clerk looked the pair of them up and down, and crossed his arms.

"Let me make this clear," he said. "There are no writers, publishers or printers to be found here, you understand? The amount of times I've had visitors like you recently... You're fooling no one. Ask me again, and I'll tell you the exact same thing. Good day."

He returned to the scroll he was reading, resolutely ignoring Llovesi's further attempts to ask questions. She turned to Julan and shrugged, and they both retreated down a nearby corridor.

"He knows something," Julan muttered. "He's about as good as lying as Crassius Curio is at subtlety."

"Because he doesn't need to lie well," Llovesi said. "You heard him–I bet after the first issue of 'The Common Tongue' appeared the guards came straight here to find out who was responsible. He was _proud_ to defend the secret."

"Then it looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way," Julan said, and set off down the corridor. "It seems he doesn't mind us looking around, so, let's start looking."

* * *

They started their search, combing the corridors, checking every door. They wandered through alchemy labs, where the sound of bubbling alembics mixed with the pounding of pestles against mortars. They found tailors, hard at work stitching intricate designs onto rich cuts of fabric: crimsons, indigos and verdant greens. They found enchanters, examining and chipping away at soul gems, or infusing small blades and rings with a magical glow. The acrid spark of magic spiced the air.

But they found no writers.

The had just left the deafening blacksmith's, where it was hard to even think over the roaring forges and metal hitting metal, when Julan paused by a door and frowned.

"Look at this," he said, pointing out the door's plaque. It read: 'Craftsmen only. Everyone else: keep out!'

"That's strange," Llovesi said. "None of the other store rooms had that sign."

"And they didn't have such complex locks, either," Julan said, crouching down so that his eye was level with the door's keyhole. "But, still, I should be able... give me a minute."

He brushed his hair behind his ear and placed his palm against the door. Magicka glowed at his fingertips, and Llovesi could hear a soft clicking as he began to work.

Llovesi glanced both ways down the corridor, but there was no need. No one was coming, and Julan had the lock open.

"You know," she said, her voice full of admiration as he straightened up, "I never even asked you where you learnt to do that."

"Oh, me and Sha used to challenge each other, see what we could break into. She used her picks and I used my magicka. We never took anything of course!" he added hastily. "It was more just to show off to one another. Anyway..."

He pushed the door open.

It looked to be another storage room for the blacksmith's: hunks of ore and strips of leather sat in piles on the shelves. However, it differed in one key aspect: the large wooden trapdoor set into the stone floor.

Llovesi reached for the large iron ring, and lifted the trapdoor clear. What happened next was most unexpected.

There was a surprised cry from below, and as she peered into the room she heard, rather than saw, figures running, heard them drawing weapons. Her hand leapt to her own dagger, but too late, one of the figures was ascending the ladder and, before she could resist, he grabbed the front of her shirt and pulled her down into the room.

Suddenly, she was struggling with a burly, armoured Dunmer. He smashed her hand against the wall, forcing her to drop her dagger, then twisted it behind her back and pushed her face into the same wall. Under any other circumstances she might have been able to throw him off, but she was disorientated from her fall.

Julan hadn't been idle. As soon as she'd been pulled down, he'd drawn his own sword and leapt after her. But Llovesi's assailant spun her round and placed his mace to her throat. The spikes pressed uncomfortably against her chin.

"Ah, ah." He shook his head. "I've never slit someone's throat with a mace before. Shall we see if it can be done? Probably wouldn't be pretty but," he glanced at Llovesi's face, "can't get much worse, can it? Drop your weapon."

Julan dropped his sword furiously, and the other Dunmer man kicked it into a corner before taking Julan's wrists.

What could they do? Disarmed, their armour sitting uselessly in the tavern a few streets away, it was fair to say they hadn't been expecting this outcome. Mournhold was definitely testing her expectations, Llovesi thought as she tried to ignore the spikes biting into her neck.

"What should we do with them, Sendel?" the Dunmer holding Llovesi asked. "Take them to Varis?"

_Varis_... the name sparked some memory in Llovesi's mind. "Is Varis your leader?" she asked carefully, trying to draw her throat away from the mace. "I want to speak with him."

The other man looked furious. "Don't use our names, you s'wit! Yes, I suppose we'll have to take them to the boss now, before you tell them your own name and the names of all your family too!"

_Family_... but Llovesi and Julan were being half-pushed, half-pulled towards a wooden door.

It opened before they could reach it. Another Dunmer, his messy auburn hair falling past his shoulders, glared at them all in turn.

"Trels? I mean boss?" The man holding Llovesi started as the one named Sendel gave him an evil look. "We apprehended these intruders trying to break in."

"I see." Trels Varis stepped forward. He seemed an unassuming man in his plain clothes, but his eyes flickered across their faces as if he were reading a book.

"What are you two doing here?" he asked. "And may I suggest you make your answer very clear, because this office and what we do here is a well-kept secret. And we wish to keep it a secret, even if it means that you do not leave here alive."

The mace against Llovesi's throat was lowered, but only slightly.

"I–we're here to...," she coughed, and started again. "You will stop printing lies about King Helseth."

Trels raised an eyebrow. "I haven't printed lies about King Helseth in 'The Common Tongue'," he said. "I've only printed the truth. The straight truth. And I intend to keep on printing the truth in 'The Common Tongue'–unless you think you can stop me."

He left the challenge dangling tantalisingly in the air, but the increased pressure on Llovesi's arms told her to think carefully about her answer.

_Family_... _Varis_...

"I know where Granny and Gee-Pop are," she said, the words flying from her mouth almost as fast as she realised her plan. "They're being watched. Stop printing lies–or else."

The atmosphere in the room seemed to hang on a thread.

"I see," Trels said, after a moment. "Well, I must say you've done your research. You've located my parents. You know, the Palace's dogs have been sniffing round for ages, but you're the first to have dug out our secret office. But then, you and your husband are of a different breed, aren't you, Llovesi?"

He smiled, letting the reaction sink in.

"Come into my office."

The hold on Llovesi's arms disappeared, and she glanced at Julan. He seemed none the worse for wear, rubbing his wrists, a little shocked perhaps. Just like her.

Trels held the door open for them, and they stepped into the newspaper's main office. Large machines, as seemingly immovable as the building itself, were lined against the wall, being fed with paper by assistants who barely looked round as they walked in. With soft thuds, the machines pressed ink onto the papers, which were then collected into neat stacks and laid in piled upon the overflowing desks. Ready for distribution.

"I have to say I'm a little surprised at your reaction, Llovesi," Trels said, inviting them to sit in front of another desk, behind all the busy work. "You and Julan must realise how conspicuous the pair of you are, running around in Mournhold. I make it my business to know everything that goes on in this city, and beyond, and I recognised you as soon as I saw you. You're hard to miss frankly," he added, his eyes darting to her scars.

"But not as surprised as I was to learn of your growing association with the Palace. Reports of the famed Nerevarine, suddenly a lapdog court creature, dragging her Ashkhan husband all over the capital of Morrowind–why are you here, Llovesi?"

"I'll not tell you that," Llovesi said, gritting her teeth. "You'll just print it in that broadsheet of yours, and then we'll all be in even more trouble."

"So, you _aren't_ here of your own free will. Interesting. And that fits much more with what I know of you. You know as well as I do that I write the truth. It also explains why three men who recently managed to get in touch with me have suddenly disappeared–but not died, it appears. You too are moving things in your own little way."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"Perhaps we can help each other out."

"We have been told to get you to stop printing about King Helseth," Julan said, spitting the words out s if they were posion in his mouth. "And if you do not then more people will probably be hurt. There is more at stake here than the truth." His voice broke on the last word, and something like sympathy appeared on Trels's face.

"Yes, I had wondered about the rumours of what originally brought you both here... Very well, I am a man of my word. I believe there is no greater stake than the truth, but then again, up until now, my own family had not been threatened. If I tell you I will no longer discuss King Helseth, then I will not. I do not lie. In my paper or otherwise."

He gave them a tight-lipped smile.

"Perhaps there are other things I should turn my attention too. After all, Helseth is not the only source of problems in this city. Of course we will have to move office. And I think perhaps I should change my name–so that you can give the Palace mine."

"Thank you," Llovesi muttered. She hated this–it felt like a lump of stone had replaced her heart. Trels was right–in any other circumstances she would have been on his side, fighting to overthrow the power-hungry and dangerous officials. She had been wildly hoping that somehow, finding the office of 'The Common Tongue' would have been advantageous for her and Julan, but things had started to go wrong as soon as she'd tumbled through the trapdoor.

"You're right," she said, voicing her first thought. "There are things the people have a right to know. In another world I would have been glad to be your ally."

"You think there is no possibility of us allying?" Trels asked.

Julan balled his fists. "We have reason to believe Helseth has forged documents in our names. He's blackmailing us into doing his dirty work." he said.

Trels smiled. "In my business, we fight words with words."

Llovesi and Julan glanced at each other. Was he offering what they thought he was offering?

Llovesi cleared her throat. "Say us three had a talk. We could tell you what we're doing here, what we _have been_ doing here. You would still have to uphold our bargain–and not distribute it unless necessary–no more discussing Helseth, and a move of office. In return I could give you information, and you could–"

Trels's smile only widened. "Write one more article on his subject? No comment."

* * *

**A/N: I loved writing Trels Varis, can you tell? :p I'd appreciate feedback (as always) but especially on the newspaper article as I spent quite a lot of time making sure it matched the tone of the first, in-game article as well as giving it its own theme and message. It is at this point I should mention the content of the article is also for background context, because I've actually cut two quests that I didn't think would be relevant to this story: Goblin Army and The Shrine of the Dead. The latter's 'honorary mention' will come in the next chapter.**


	9. Isolani

**A/N: Good morning to you all! Thanks again to my wonderful Constant Reviewers (to slightly steal a Stephen King phrase): CampsMcCamper, Ozymandeos and krikanalo for reviewing chapter 7. Your feedback is very valuable to me. We get to meet several very important figures in this chapter... two queens, at opposite ends of the board.**

* * *

**_Chapter 8: Isolani_**

The pillars of the Temple soared to the ceiling, an intricate mosaic of Her triumphs blazoned above. Six High Ordinators took the flanks, Her Hands in six silver helms gazing downwards. And in the centre She stood glowing soft gold, but Her light only brushed the edge of his perception.

Fedris Hler knelt on the ground, bent so low that his forehead touched the stone floor. Besides him knelt Gavas Drin, his long robe pooling onto the tiles. But Fedris was only vaguely aware of this, as he kept his eyes fixed on green marble. His mind was full of Her presence.

There was the softest padding of bare feet on marble as Almalexia stepped forwards. Then, an almost imperceptible gentle tinkling as arms bearing many bangles were raised skywards. He knew this because it had happened before, when they had been allowed to gaze on her for sermons in days past. But now the Goddess was troubled, and now more could they look upon her beauteous face. She had changed, and it ached his heart. He longed to help her. But she could be as fierce and proud as she was beautiful and strong–terrifying to behold in her anger.

"My servant has done my bidding," the Goddess began, her voice all at once deep, rich, and soft, the most delicious nectar for the ears.

"The Shrine of the Dead has been cleansed."

At this Gavas Drin let out a sharp hiss of breath, and Fedris Hler shifted slightly away from him in discomfort.

"I feel its power restore me slightly. It is good, clean and righteous power, power that I shall put to the aid and love of my people. And they shall love me. You shall tell them this. Almalexia, the Mother Goddess and Lady of Mercy, still watches Her people. Almalexia knows and sees. She knows that they lose faith; She sees the faithless conspiring in the streets. It is because of these faithless that we had to restore our Shrine of the Dead. The faithless turn from their Goddess and they will be punished. It is the natural order of things. And the good, the faithful and loyal good, shall be rewarded. You too shall be rewarded, my loyal servants."

There was another soft tinkling as the Goddess lowered her arms again.

"Sadly, the young priest who restored the shrine was lost in our catacombs, lost to the vile and faithless creatures that patrol below. He was a most loyal servant, good and faithful to the end, and his service shall not be forgotten. But now, I see a new servant coming."

Gavas Drin gasped loudly again, and Fedris felt his heart thump in his chest. A _new_ servant? Could She mean... was it finally his chance...?

"This servant comes from outside."

Fedris felt his heart sink and he squeezed his eyes shut against the bitter cold stone.

"You will know her from the description I give you. I believe I have known her before, under another name. It is my hope that she will rise to be my greatest servant of all–to restore me to my full greatness and help spread the Light of my Glory to the whole of Morrowind!"

The Goddess's voice had risen to a crescendo on the final words, so that she was almost singing to them. Now she dropped to a whisper.

"But now, my good and faithful servants, you must prepare. She will be here soon, I can sense it. And there is much to be done before her arrival."

* * *

Llovesi walked back to the Palace with a strange buzz in her ears. There was a new spring in her step, and a new document in her satchel.

'The Common Tongue, _Special_ Issue'.

Her bargaining chip.

An article containing details of every single thing Tienius Delitian had had her and Julan doing–had _coerced _them into doing–according to the King's wishes, since their arrival in Mournhold. Just one copy, but hundreds more sat waiting with Trels Varis in his new hideout. And if she and Julan were to disappear, the distribution of these broadsheets would be immediate.

No more playing games.

Tienius Delitian received them in the throne room, which was still empty of any royal presence. A stern expression sat on his face. Admittedly, this didn't make any great change.

"So you have returned," he said. "Before we get to business I have some unfortunate news."

"Oh?" Llovesi asked, folding her arms. Biding her time.

"Yes. Those men you found guilty of conspiring against King Helseth? All three have escaped." He fixed her with a careful look. "There must be a leak here at the Palace. Now, did you find the anonymous writer of 'The Common Tongue'?"

"I did."

"And he would be...?"

"A man by the name of Trels Varis. Who has promised to stop writing about Helseth. We made a deal you see."

Llovesi stepped forward with menace as Julan scowled darkly by her side, by Delitian continued to stare them down unflinchingly.

"We're done being your lackeys," she continued. "I want to speak with King Helseth. Now."

"As I've said," Delitian said in measured tones, "the King will not speak with you at this time."

The other guards on duty were starting to look their way. Llovesi's cheeks flushed with hot colour, as she raised her voice.

"I don't think you under–"

"The Queen Mother has asked to speak with you."

Llovesi stopped, wrong-footed. Julan spoke up, disbelief clear in his voice.

"Barenziah wants to speak to us?"

"_Lady_ Barenziah," Delitian said, switching his hard gaze to Julan. "She is waiting in her chambers. I will have a page escort you there momentarily. But first..."

He crossed to the throne, and retrieved a long wrapped package from behind it, then returned to them, unwinding the rich cloth.

"Our generous reward," he said. "For your most loyal service, with our gratitude."

It was a sword. Not just any sword, but one of the most beautiful, and dangerous, looking swords Llovesi had ever seen. Easily twice as long as her arm, seemingly Daedric in design, sharper than a Daedroth's fang; the black steel of the handle was carved with a delicate crimson inlay. The whole blade practically shone with its magical enchantment.

Llovesi swallowed hard.

"I thought we had reached an understanding," she said finally. "I'm not taking your bribes."

Delitian lowered the sword. "A shame," he said. "This is a 'King's Oath' blade–exactly like those used by the Royal Guard. Only those sworn to the King's service and tested by great trials may use them. We had thought to offer it to you in mutual friendship. Still, if you will refuse, perhaps there will be other opportunities to recognise this... relationship. Now, the Queen Mother, Lady Barenziah, will see you."

He clicked his fingers, and an Imperial page waiting in the back of the room rushed forwards.

"If you will, seras," he said nervously. "The Queen Mother is waiting."

He led them through a door at the back of the throne room, through many low and winding passages and high-ceiling-halls with planters that burst with colour. They passed through an area with many Imperial shrines and robed priests praying. Finally, they ascended a staircase, and the page knocked on a door.

"These are her Lady's apartments," he said. "This is where I shall leave you."

A Redguard woman in Royal Guard armour opened the door.

"Please come in," she said. "Our Queen is waiting for you."

She led them into a sumptuously decorated room, and then returned to her post by the door, watching them carefully. The walls were the same pastel green, the floors the same deep green marble, as the rest of the palace, but in everything else was evidence of the Queen's touch. Mahogany bookcases lined with hundreds of books, bound in rich red leather with tiny golden letters on the spines. Silken tapestries depicting beautiful and exotic landscapes that Llovesi didn't recognise, mountains and tundra and seascapes. Rose-coloured screens of the type Llovesi had seen on Vvardenfell shielded a large sitting area with divans, a rug, a low table and an empty fireplace. And in this sitting-room, carefully poised on one of the plump-cushioned divans, was an elderly Dunmer woman.

She sat, straight-backed and elegant, her silver hair wound up in an intricate style by many gold pins and a golden crown. Her long crimson gown, with accents of deep purple, complemented her shrewd eyes perfectly. In truth, these eyes were the only true indicator of her age. Many Dunmer, young and old, bore silver hair, and the woman's face was curiously smooth and soft. But her eyes spoke of things seen and done, of tragedies and accomplishments, of flirtation and stoicism, of wisdom and youthful foolishness and above all, of age.

These were the eyes of an old woman indeed, the eyes of Queen Barenziah. The Queen who had lived in Skyrim and High Rock. The Queen who had been a thief, a love, a mother and a schemer. The Queen who had consorted with Tiber Septim, with Symmachus and with Jagar Tharn. Lady Barenziah, Queen Mother of Mournhold, woman of fame and legend.

Llovesi and Julan bowed low before her. Whatever her position in this current state of affairs, she was not her son, and deserved respect.

Smiling, Queen Barenziah rose to her feet with a swish of skirts.

"Approach and be recognised, my good people," she said.

Her voice was soft yet commanding. Llovesi and Julan took each other's hand and stood before the Queen.

"Greetings, Llovesi and Julan. I've been wanting to speak with you. I understand you've been performing some duties for Tienius, and you've done well. I believe there are other matters you should investigate as well."

"With all due respect your majesty," Llovesi said. "If you know about what we've been doing for Captain Delitian then you'll also know why. We believe we've been unfairly and cruelly manipulated and we have no more desire to be involved in Palace propaganda."

Barenziah nodded. "I understand your sentiments. This is why I have asked to speak to you–without my son's knowledge, though he will no doubt find out in due course. It is my belief that my son has been testing you."

"_Testing_ us?" Julan asked incredulously. But in Llovesi's mind it didn't sound that odd at all. Something Delitian had said floated to her: "_It's your judgement I'm testing, not mine_..._"_

"Why has he been 'testing' us?" she asked. "What for?"

Barenziah sighed. "Believe me when I say that, like me, my son only has the best interests of his people at heart, and he sees himself able to help only through his current position, a position he ruthlessly and ambitiously fights to hold. I am not blind to this. But even I cannot know his every intention. It is my belief that perhaps he once saw you as a threat, and now he believes you can help us."

She turned to gaze out of the rose-coloured window into the gardens below, and the pages and guards walking through the trees and flowers in the summer sunshine. Then she turned back to Llovesi and Julan and smiled, a little grimly.

"Mournhold is a town of two minds. On the one hand, there is the monarchy, led by Helseth, and on the other there is the Temple, and the Goddess Almalexia. It is hard to know whom you may trust. While there has been no open hostility between the two, there are always undercurrents that bear watching.

"So, I would like you to make yourself known to the Temple. See what you can learn. Speak to Fedris Hler. He is a powerful man in the Temple, a confidant of Almalexia. See if you can get to know him a bit."

"You... still want us to spy for Helseth?" Llovesi asked carefully. "Despite what we've just told you?"

"As I've said, I cannot know all that my son does, and I cannot agree with all his methods. But I think we can agree on the fact that the growing tensions in Mournhold will come to no good. Do these tensions stem entirely from the Temple? We in the Palace are not blameless, but you have doubtless heard reports of how Almalexia has recently... changed. And there is more to Hler than one would think. There are rumours that he was once an assassin. It is fairly widely known that he is the leader of the Hands of Almalexia, her personal guard. This is not a person to be trifled with. I think the Temple bears investigation. Your position is useful for this, and it is my hope that your husband will assist you."

"My position?" Llovesi asked.

Barenziah smiled again.

"I know a little about the prophecies. I know about you and the Temple. Some people in the west set great store in signs and portents, but for thousands of years we Dunmer have had the luxury of being able to speak directly to our Gods. We have no need of prophets, and distrust anyone who claims to speak for the Gods."

"I do not claim to speak for the Gods," Llovesi said. "I speak for the people of Morrowind, and their interests."

"Of course. But Fedris Hler and Gavas Drin would not see it that way, given that they themselves are fast becoming the mouthpieces for their Goddess's new sermons. But those who keep company with Gods are much the same as those who keep company with kings. Why should you trust me?"

She leant closer to them, close enough that Llovesi could smell the spice of her perfume and see something approaching a twinkle in her eye.

"My time in the political arena is done, and I will not miss it. I do, however, like to know what is happening to my son, and to his monarchy. I stay interested. You should also take the time to speak with Plitinius Mero, a dear friend of mine. He is knowledgeable on a great many subjects, and is always interesting to speak with. Apart we two, it is up to you to decide who your friends are."

"The man who wrote _The Real Barenziah_?" Julan asked, suddenly and eagerly.

Barenziah laughed suddenly and the twinkle in her eye became a full-on spark.

"So you've read it? Not his real name of course, but he is close to me. A man of the people, a good source of information. These royal trappings don't allow me to get out as much as I'd like, but I can always count on Plitinius to know how the winds will change. You'll often find him wandering about in the Palace Courtyard. Get to know him. His knowledge and judgement are unparalleled."

"Very well your majesty," Llovesi said slowly, seeing Julan nod his agreement. "We'll speak to your friend and we'll speak to Fedris Hler. For the good of the people. Not for Helseth. I haven't renounced my ambitions to speak with him."

"Of course," Barenziah said, sitting back down. "And I expect I'll be seeing you both again in the future as well."

* * *

The mid-morning sunshine was already growing hot, but there was plenty of shade to be had under the towering trees in the Palace courtyard. Bugs and birds alike twittered overhead, and Plitinius Mero was seating reading on a bench.

Without Barenziah's description, Llovesi and Julan might have dismissed him as just another court noble, or an old brown-noser, an eager social climber. The man's silver hair was combed neatly over a bald spot, and he wore blue silken clothes with the gold brocade, emerald beading and short cape that seemed so fashionable in the capital.

With Barenziah's description, they noticed more. The careful, attentive way he turned the pages. Worn patches on his elbows, as if he spent time hunched over a desk. Callouses on the sides of his fingers. The writer barely even noticed them approach, so engrossed he was in his book, and they had to cough politely before he looked up.

"Can I help you?" he asked brightly.

Llovesi sat down next to him, Julan next to her. "Barenziah sent us to speak with you."

Plitinius closed his book, a dreamy look coming over his face.

"Ahh... the Lady Barenziah. A fine, fine woman. It has been my pleasure to have known her as long as I have."

"And what do you make of her son?" Llovesi asked.

Plitinius's face clouded slightly. "It is certain that his bloodline is strong," he said. "He is a young king, though, and perhaps a bit rash. He does not yet possess his father's courage–or his mother's wisdom."

Llovesi nodded. So, he was prepared to speak his mind, and frankly too. Perhaps he could be trusted, as Barenziah had said.

"We're interested in how the wind's blowing," Julan said. "Particularly the wind... that's coming from the Temple." A funny look crossed his face as he spoke, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was saying.

Plitinius nodded politely. "Yes, I've heard many people express concerns about 'new directions' the Temple may be taking. But Almalexia is still much loved by the people of Mournhold. She was the wife of Nerevar and one of his most trusted advisors."

He glanced at Llovesi's scar. More subtly than most people admittedly, but she still caught the movement of his eyes.

"Yes, I'm well aware of the irony," she said.

"I do beg your pardon. However, I find it perhaps even more ironic that you're here, interviewing me, when arguably _you_ should be the one being interviewed. Such a fascinating story you have. You know, I still possess some of my old ambition and talent. It'd be my honour to tell it to the world."

"Maybe another time," Llovesi said, quickly and dismissively, and Plitinius looked crestfallen. She softened her tone, realising the man had meant no harm. "Look, at the moment we're focusing on one thing. What more can you tell us about people at the Temple. Fedris Hler, maybe?"

Plitinius shrugged. "My research tells me that Hler has been with the Lady Almalexia for many years now, serving in an official capacity as her Steward. What these duties entail is not known to me, but there are rumours that he carries out some of the more... unpleasant chores for the Goddess."

He let the sentence drift between them, then continued. "There's also Gavas Drin, the Lord Archcanon. He came to the position over ten years ago, when the former Archcanon died of old age. Drin has spent his life in servitude to the Lady Almalexia, and he has been rewarded with great power."

"Thank you," Julan said, and glanced at Llovesi. "We should go."

"Of course," Plitinius picked up his book again, then hesitated. "A word of advice, Nerevarine and friend. The Queen Barenziah is a gracious, yet powerful figure. Many might say the same of the Lady Almalexia, although I quietly disagree that she could ever match our Queen Mother. But still, a pawn between two Queens is rarely a safe position to be in."

* * *

There were no midday worshippers at the Temple when Llovesi and Julan stepped from the sun into the cool of the reception area. The only sounds were the _scratch, scratch, scratch_ of Granny Varis's dry-twig broom on the tiles, and a similar noise coming from the bald-headed priest they'd seen a few days ago, writing at a desk.

He looked up, and greeted Llovesi and Julan with the same piercing look he'd bestowed on them the week before, except this time he rose from his desk to greet them. His brown robe was patched and worn, perhaps deceptively worn, Llovesi thought, as his glass pauldrons gleamed almost as bright as the stained glass windows. She could see glass boots winking from beneath the torn hem of his robe as well. _He doesn't want to be easy to figure out_.

"Ahh... you're the one who has recently arrived in Mournhold from Vvardenfell. I am Fedris Hler," he said, ignoring Julan and approaching Llovesi directly. His voice came as a surprise, unctuous and yet warm, almost fatherly. She'd been expecting something pious and clipped or stern and cold, not this slippery familiarity. She took a step back.

"Yes, _we_ arrived last week."

"I was told of your arrival," Hler continued, giving Julan the briefest of acknowledgments. "I understand you had some problems with the Dark Brotherhood. An interesting group... and usually rather effective. I'm surprised you're still alive. Perhaps you have potential, or they sent incompetents. I believe you might be of service to our Lady."

"To Almalexia?"

"Yes. The Goddess has asked to speak with you herself. You should go through the door behind into the High Chapel and take audience with her there. Don't keep her waiting."

Mouth suddenly strangely dry, Llovesi stepped towards the arch-shaped door, her hand stretching out to take the handle...

"Just you. Not him," Hler said from behind.

Llovesi turned round slowly. "Where I go, he goes," she said coldly. "He's my husband and you cannot stop us."

Hler bowed his head, his expression unreadable. "Very well then."

They turned back to the door, and went through into Almalexia's High Chapel.

* * *

Llovesi blinked as her eyes got used to the dim light. She only had one other point of reference for the hall in which a Tribunate stood, and that was back in the palace of Vivec. Still, there were obvious similarities between the two–the lack of light despite a few braziers, the raised plinth, the figure standing in the middle, as if they were waiting...

And there were differences too. Almalexia's High Chapel was far larger, far more ornate and beautifully decorated, at the heart of her city rather than on the outskirts. And she was not alone–six High Ordinators in pale gold, rather than silver (or the yellow-gold of the Vvardenfell Ordinators) stood around her plinth. Her Hands.

The Goddess herself stepped forward.

"Come, and bathe in my light."

Her voice was deep and rich, as gilded as her fair skin. She was not as Vivec had been, half and half, balancing on a line, she was full Chimer and she looked as soft as any of the flowers blooming in the city. Her hair tumbled down her back in crimson curls, only slightly tamed by a jade circlet on her brow. Her lips were round, her eyes blazing gold. Her limbs were long and her curves sensuous, adorned only by armour: a barely-there breastplate, impressive curving pauldrons and light bracers. She wore many swirling, intricate tattoos, and the only fabric to caress her body was a gently cascading loincloth.

Llovesi swallowed hard. What were these thoughts running through her head? What were these feelings? Some strange new magic? Never had she felt...

She took Julan's hand firmly in her own, felt its callouses, felt his warmth. He was the one she loved, her constant partner and companion. Together they stepped forward to meet Almalexia.

"So," the Goddess said simply, gazing deeply into Llovesi eyes. She was tall, nearly the same height as Llovesi. "You are the person I have been hearing about. You have come to dear Fedris and he has sent you to me. This is good."

She looked at Llovesi for a long time saying nothing. Llovesi felt the burning in the pit of her stomach ebb away, to be filled by something else. Discomfort. Julan's hand tightened over her own.

"I welcome you to my chapel, Llovesi... or perhaps I should call you by another name? But, that is a discussion for a later time. I have heard of you. I scarce choose to believe what I have heard..." She raised her hand, bracelets jingling softly and moved it slowly, irresistibly, towards Llovesi face, and stroked her fingertips gently down the left side of Llovesi face.

Her touch was as electric as Vivec's had been. Llovesi jerked away.

"What happened to you?" Almalexia asked softly.

"It was a madman," Llovesi spat; unsure of where her sudden disgust was coming from. It felt as though she were trying to struggle against some unseen force. "A madman who dreamt himself a God while he turned himself into a monster."

"Hmm." Almalexia lowered her hand so quickly it was hard to believe anything had ever happened. She continued to stare at Llovesi, a strange smile playing on her lips.

"I wanted to meet you Llovesi, to ask of you a service. Indeed, a service in my name is a service for all of Mournhold. Now, my faithful and obedient servant, let us discuss Barilzar's Mazed Band."

"I'm not your servant," Llovesi said slowly. "And what is this 'Barilzar's Mazed Band' you speak of?"

Almalexia hadn't stopped smiling. "All things in time, Llovesi. You forget that I am outside of time. Perhaps you have not been my servant, perhaps you are not, but I see that you will become my good and faithful servant. All things in time. As for the Mazed Band. It is an object that seems ordinary enough, but contains great power. I want it. My Lord Archcanon, Gavas Drin will be able to tell you where to find it."

"Hang on," Llovesi said. "You want me to go and find this for you, and you're not even going to tell me what it is? Why should I do this? Why do you want it?"

For the first time, Almalexia's smile faltered. She turned away from Llovesi and Julan, her shoulders shaking slightly. The High Ordinators remained as still as statues, even with this strange new sight before them.

"I cannot expect you to understand," the Goddess said in a choked voice.

Llovesi dropped Julan's hand and stepped forwards.

"Understand what?"

"The difficulty... the feeling of what I had, what I'd always I had, what I could have had–gone. I felt the Heart disappear, and it was a knife in my back."

She turned back to them, her exquisite lips trembling, her eyes shining. "No, you cannot hope to understand. You think I hide myself in here through choice? My people need me, they called out to me, and I could not help them because my power had diminished due to the faithless. And now... I can do nothing at all. It is hopeless."

She hadn't raised her voice once, simply continued to speak as tears seeped from her sparkling eyes.

"But this ring, this Mazed Band, I know it can bring me the power I need. To do good. To serve the Temple and all of Morrowind. I still have my magicka, but you cannot understand what a position I am in now..."

"Okay," Llovesi said. "I'll do this. For the–for your people." It was the second time she had made the promise that day, but this time it felt a little hollow. In truth, it was guilt coursing through her veins.

"Thank you," Almalexia whispered. "Go now, my good and faithful servant. Go now and speak with my loyal Drin in his office."

Llovesi and Julan turned to leave. Almalexia watched them go, watched her go. Her back was straight and her eyes were dry. She spoke, out loud and to no one in particular.

"I always knew how to talk to him."

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so now we're approaching the part of the story that I adapted the most, and thus also struggled to write the most! The story-line is clear in my head, but occasionally I found I was trying to juggle the appropriate dialogue, motivations and relationships and tone in my head (in fact - I still am, as I'm still writing it!) So, I would be more grateful than ever for feedback on those things! Thank you for reading, one again.**


	10. Best Left Buried

**A/N: Many thanks again to krikanalo and Ozymandeos for your reviews! I have to say, I'm not Almalexia's biggest fan either though I think she can be an interesting and nuanced character, and she's a heap of fun to write for. I wasn't really satisfied with the interaction with her in game, which is why I've made many changes to the plot in that area...**

* * *

_**Chapter 9: Best Left Buried**_

Gavas Drin was less polite than Fedris Hler, which was putting it lightly. He looked Llovesi up and down (again ignoring Julan) as if he'd just found her on the bottom of his shoe, although it was unlikely his embroidered slippers ever saw the outside of the Temple. Unlike Hler, his robe was ostentatious, a golden-brocaded green silk thing draped over a high-collared shirt. And unlike Hler, his dislike for her, the Imperials, King Helseth, in fact anything outside the Temple, was apparent. But whenever he spoke of Almalexia, his face was transported in an expression of rapturous adoration.

"Yes, the Mazed Band," he said slowly. "The purpose of the artefact is unknown to me. All I know is that the Lady wants it. I can only assume it will allow her to better minister to her people, though I find that hard to imagine."

He stared at the ceiling for several moments, his hands clasped in rapturous piety.

"Barilzar himself was a powerful mage... quite powerful, in fact," he said, lowering his face to their level again. "He created the band sometime in the middle of the Second Era, and soon after disappeared. You'll find it in the ruins beneath the Temple. Search to the northwest in the sewers. There was a passageway that had been blocked off by a cave-in, but Almalexia has recently had the area cleared. Now, go away."

It only took them an hour to head back to Godsreach to collect their armour and packs, and Llovesi her spears. "Not leaving, are you?" asked Hession, the Altmer proprietor.

"No, we'll be back,"Llovesi replied. She privately thought that Hession's only concern was the steady trickle of money she would lose if and when they did decide to finish their stay.

They returned to the Temple, and found Galsa in the infirmary, who was more than happy to see them again, and to show them into the basement.

"Here," she said, panting as she pushed some crates to one side. "This trapdoor will lead you to the sewer network, and the old ruins. I am glad you two are doing this for our Goddess. I hope whatever it is you find will do her good, and restore her old peaceful and merciful outlook."

They were walking through some water filled tunnel, long sheets of algae and vines hanging down from above, the distant sound of dripping water their only companion, when Julan spoke, for the first time in hours.

"That was weird. Really weird."

He paused, and the sound of dripping water filled the void between them.

"Why are we doing this, Llovesi?"

She sighed, stopped in her tracks to face him, and decided to be honest.

"Guilt mainly. She didn't say as much, but it's my fault she's the way she is now. If she is... losing touch, that's on my hands."

"I saw the way she looked at you. And the way you looked at her."

There was something new in his voice, something new she didn't like at all.

"Julan." She took his hands as they stood there in the damp tunnel and although he let her, hard eyes met hers.

"I don't know what that was. I'd never felt anything like it. That's why I held you. No one will–no one can–take me from you or you from me. No one will come between us."

In truth, she really didn't understand the strange and different feelings she had felt in the High Chapel. Was it some spell, or something deep in her that she didn't understand?

His eyes softened.

"Almalexia might be dangerous," Llovesi said. "If what we've been hearing is true. Which is another reason I'm doing this. Maybe if we bring her this ring, this artefact, it will mollify her somehow. Maybe it will ease some of this city's ills."

"I'm sorry," Julan said, and they kept walking. "I know you have these responsibilities, and you want the people of Morrowind protected. It's just after Helseth, now we have this... I just want to finish our business here and return to the tribe."

"Me too," Llovesi said. "And don't worry, I haven't forgotten Helseth. We'll see him before our time here is done. It's not over yet. But, maybe this will help things."

"I hope so," Julan said simply.

The low, narrow tunnel they were following suddenly grew wider. They pushed back vines, and found they'd emerged into what must have once been an old square. Except that the central paving stones had sunken, and filled with water, and the purplish mosaics were being hungrily reclaimed by the rampant plant life that abounded in this part of Old Mournhold.

A vast carpet of algae swept across the stone floor. Vines twisted their way round pillars and crumbled stone, holding the ruins together in their embrace. Even luminous blue mushrooms winked here and there, casting spots of soft light in the gloom. It was an almost beautiful state of neglect.

From the sunken square, they took the western passage, and followed it until they reached a rotting wooden door. A great pile of rocks sat against a nearby wall, as if they had been moved out of the way.

"This must be it," Julan said, drawing his bow.

They kicked open the door, and went into the ruined room beyond. It was large, almost circular, and the large slabs of stone were littered with half-crumbled pillars. And between the pillars, scattered by the place's degradation: coffins.

"This is a crypt," Llovesi said, ice running down her spine. As soon as the words left her lips, there was the creaking of wood, as the coffins began to splinter.

Figures in robes flew upwards, the material flapping around bodies and limbs that were no more than bone, some with grey and decaying skin stretched tightly over them. Some figures still had eyeballs, rolling madly in their sockets, others were no more than robed skeletons. They shouted, in an old and disused language, but a language Llovesi now understood: Dunmeris:

"_Who disturbs this place_?"

It wasn't really a question they were meant to answer, she realised, as the robed figures turned and attacked as legion.

Great jolts of electricity flew through the air. Llovesi and Julan threw themselves to the ground, and felt the energy crackle above them, leaving the noxious scent of burning filling the room.

Julan had rolled upright again, and was nocking an enchanted arrow to his bow. Llovesi threw herself behind a nearby pillar as another barrage of electricity sailed overhead. What use would her spears be against skeletal flying wizards? She would have to use her spells. _Oh, brilliant._

She began conjuring a fireball to her fingertips, carefully regulating its size and heat.

She spun back round to release it, just in time to seen one of Julan's arrows ignite, and catch onto one of the skeleton's flapping robes. The whole piece of faded cloth caught fire, and the skeleton fell to the ground, screaming and charred.

"Looks like they're weak to fire!" Julan shouted, drawing back another arrow and ducking an incoming spell.

"Good," Llovesi said, and concentrated, letting the fireball soar from her hands into the air.

She ducked back behind the pillar to ransack her bag for a restorative potion, and when she resurfaced, two more skeletons had fallen to the ground.

There remained only three now, circling them closer as if they were eager to end the battle. Llovesi launched another fireball, smaller this time, at one of them and didn't stop to see it burn as she hurled her spear at another. It carried no magical enchantment, so all it did was catch the skeleton's robe, scattering its bones on the ground. Llovesi ran over and crushed the skull with her foot, before the animating magic could pull the bones together again.

Julan fired one more flaming arrow, and the last figure fell into a charred heap on the ground.

"What were _they_?" Llovesi asked, picking up her spear cautiously.

"Lichs," Julan replied. "Undead wizards who have bound their souls outside their body so that they can 'live' eternally."

"So we're here looking for an artefact–a ring to be precise, in a tomb of undead wizards," Llovesi said slowly, looking round at the bones and old robes littering the ground. "I suppose we'd better start searching."

They checked all the finger bones, all the robes, even checked the coffins, but there was no ring to be found.

"I guess we go further in," Julan said, but as soon as he had finished speaking, a great booming voice echoed around the chamber.

"You have no place here, children of living flesh."

Llovesi jumped back, brandishing her spear, but no figure appeared to join the voice. Julan was by her side, his eyes wide.

"You heard it too?" she asked, knowing their past experience with disembodied voices.

"Yes, it sounded like it came from above."

He gestured at the rocky ceiling with his bow, and Llovesi's eyes followed it, falling upon a nearby ladder leading to a trapdoor.

"Come on," she said, drawing the Fang of Haynekhtnamet.

They had both climbed through the trapdoor into a roughly hewn corridor, when the deep, melancholy voice rang out again.

"The Mazed Band must not be allowed to leave this tomb."

They followed the voice, weapons raised, hearts thumping.

"The Band should never have existed at all."

They rounded a corner, and there he was.

As with the Lichs in the lower room, Llovesi supposed he had once been a man. Now his skin clung desperately to bones, a paper-thin fabric stretched tight over ribs, arms, and legs. His face was a grinning skull, topped by a golden crown and small wisps of white hair. Half rotted clothes, half rusted armour still held his body together in places. A vicious-looking claymore banged against his back as he turned to stare at them.

"That was my folly, and this is my curse," he said, and a deep sadness resonated in his voice that contrasted with his forced permanent smile. "For all eternity, I am damned to walk in this half life, to keep my creation from destroying the hearts and minds of mortals. Those who would challenge my fate will pay with their lives."

He drew the sword on his back. "Everyone who has ever come here has tried to claim the Band. I have continued to guard it. I will not let you take it."

Then, as suddenly and terminally as the lowering of a coffin lid, blackness descended upon Llovesi. A heavy, crushing blackness, that forced her into the ground.

_It's over. He's killed me._

But there was still a scuffling in the obscure, then she heard Julan yell, felt the swish of a sword as she rolled to one side, and she understood that death was unlikely to sound or feel like this. _He's blinded us somehow. Blinded and burdened._

Then a groping hand found her ankle in the darkness, but a warm, living hand. And the blackness was gone. Well, not gone entirely, but replaced by a many-shifting coloured void, all hues of blue and black together. Standing out against this void was a figure, composed of moving clouds in white-purple. And it was coming straight for her. Llovesi rolled again, feeling the pressure of the burden spell against her chest, then forced herself to her feet. Every movement was sluggish, but she understood that somehow Julan had pulled them both back from the brink.

A thought came, because in battle thoughts were quicker than words.

_Couldn't dispel it. Have cast detect life._

Fighting in this way was bizarre, but Llovesi had been forced to move away from sight as a primary sense months ago. Now she felt the vibrations in the ground with her feet. Listened for the rattling of bones or a sword sailing through the air and dodged. Smelt the stench of death hanging in the gloom and attacked.

Her dagger hit bone, and the lich shrieked as electricity danced across his body. Then his sword bit deep into her side, and she fell back, concentrating on healing the wound.

Julan's silhouette was behind the lich's; sending sword blows into its joints. Arrows would be far too dangerous in this situation. He hacked at the wrists, and there was the sound of metal bouncing on stone as the claymore clattered away uselessly. She raised her dagger for a renewed attacked, when suddenly bony hands closed around her throat.

"I... will... not... let... you... take... it!" the lich wheezed.

He'd made a mistake in getting so close. Llovesi didn't hesitate, but punched through his chest, tearing fragile skin and shattering brittle bone. She found his heart, a shrivelled, long-dead, still-beating thing and squeezed, flames sputtering at her fingertips.

The lich screamed, a strangely deep yet high-pitched sound that forced itself through Llovesi's ears and down the back of her neck, pricking her spine. She pressed her hands against her ears as the lich tumbled back, his innards on fire. But she could still see Julan's flickering silhouette as he stepped forward, swinging his sword in a large arch. The lich's head tumbled from his shoulders and their sight was restored.

Julan sheathed his sword, breathing raggedly. He was bleeding in many places, and his hair was hanging in his face. Realising his magicka reserves probably hadn't yet regenerated after the powerful detect life spell, Llovesi caught him as he tumbled and set to work on healing him.

"So…" he breathed, as her hands caressed his stomach, "that must have been Barilzar. He must have created this ring, this Mazed Band. And it sounds dangerous. He certainly did his best to stop us getting our hands on it. Are you… sure this is the right thing to do?"

Llovesi finished healing him in silence.

"The way I see it," she said finally. "Everything we do to help this city gets us one step closer to home. I'm sure–I hope Almalexia will use the ring for good, to help her followers and so to heal the rift between the Temple and the Palace. Maybe Barilzar was lying?"

Even as she said the words, she wasn't sure why she was saying them. A strange feeling had come over her, a mixture of disgust and... longing. Like she had felt in the High Chapel. She got up and crossed the room to Barilzar's headless corpse. His skull sat nearby, still smiling at her. She reached for his left hand. On his third bony finger, there sat a ring. It was a heavy looking carved stone set with many small red jewels that were probably just coloured glass. Ordinary looking enough, even ugly. Why did the Goddess want it? _to keep my creation from destroying the hearts and minds of mortals... this Mazed Band, I know it can bring me the power I need. To do good. To serve the temple and all of Morrowind..._

Llovesi shook her head and tugged at the ring. It was stuck. She had to break the finger bone, and with that snap it dropped into her hand. It was strangely cold, although she swore she could see a flicker like fire within the red jewels. Ordinary.

Julan was watching her carefully from his position on the floor.

"If you're sure about this, then I trust you," he said.

* * *

Llovesi held the ring up in the light of the High Chapel, Julan beside her, his arms folded.

Almalexia's eyes gleamed for the briefest of moments, and she almost snatched the ring from Llovesi's hands.

She sighed deeply, her features beatific as she stared at the ring. Then she secreted it somewhere on her person, and turned back to Llovesi, serene and calm.

"An interesting item, is it not? It seems ordinary enough, but it is much more. The ring is cold now, but the embers of its power still burn hot within. I will use my magic to reawaken this power."

"What power does the ring have, exactly?" Julan asked.

Almalexia appeared to not even have heard him. Llovesi stared at her in disbelief, and repeated his question.

"Do not concern yourself too deeply in these matters, friend Llovesi," Almalexia said. "You have been a pleasant surprise to meet. I have seen something in you that I have not seen in a very long time. I bestow the blessing of My Light upon you. May it serve you well. We will speak again soon."

She spread her arms wide, and Llovesi was bathed in a soft glow. She felt all her worries disappear suddenly. Alamlaexia was right. The ring didn't bear worrying about. Everything would be fine.

"Come on," she said dreamily, tugging on Julan's sleeve, and they left the High Chapel.

* * *

Llovesi realised something felt strange that night, as they ate their dinner in the crowded tavern bar.

Julan wasn't talking; instead he frowned at his flatbread as he mopped up the stew on his plate. Somehow, the feeling between them felt dulled, had done ever since she'd returned the ring to Almalexia. And she'd been feeling strange ever since she'd met the Goddess. She'd instantly felt drawn to her, until she'd taken Julan's hand. But she'd dropped his hand, hadn't she? And when they'd returned with the ring, Almalexia had bestowed Her Light upon her. She thought it was a blessing, but what if it was something else? Strangely, Julan's voice came back to her, as it had echoed in her head through the dark of Barilzar's crypt: _"Couldn't dispel it..."_

"Julan," Llovesi said. "I want you to cast dispel on me." She shook her head. She was unable to rid it of images of Almalexia's face.

"What?" Julan dropped his fork, looking dumbfounded. "Why do you want me to do that?"

"Because." She paused, wondering how insane it was going to sound. "Because I think, the first time we met her, Almalexia cast some sort of illusion spell on me. I tried to fight it, so she reinforced it just now."

"Okay..." Julan took her hands, and wove a bright white spell over them. There was a soft _whoosh_, and Llovesi blinked, as if she were seeing Julan again, her Julan, and everything she loved about him: his bright, worried eyes, thick brows, long, dark hair and slightly sardonic smile.

"That... _bitch_," she whispered. "She _did_ have me charmed. She's been manipulating me from the start. What have I done?" She jumped up, seizing Julan's hand, tugging him away from their meal and through the bar, up the stairs to their room.

She opened the door and pushed Julan to the bed, kissing him.

"Llovesi–" He grabbed her hands. "What's going on?"

She sat atop him. "Julan, I could apologise a thousand times, and it would never be enough. I'm so sorry. I've just been making things worse, while trying to make them better. And you've been caught in the middle."

She kissed him, moving her hands up to his face, then stopped again.

"In the morning, we'll go straight to Barenziah and explain what's happened. Perhaps it's not too late to do something. Whatever Almalexia's planning, she must be planning something... perhaps we can stop it. But now, I want to show you that, whatever happens, nothing is going to destroy what we have. We're going to come through this together."

She moved to touch him again, but Julan caught her hands.

"Llovesi," he whispered. "I never believed for a moment that we wouldn't."

* * *

The next morning was overcast for a change, and Llovesi felt the ominous, growing clouds oddly appropriate to her mood. They went through into the Royal Courtyard.

"So," Julan said. "We go to Barenziah, and we tell her that Almalexia had us fetch Barilzar's Mazed Band–"

"You what?" The voice cut over Julan, and it was Plitinius Mero, sitting on a nearby bench and looking absolutely horrified.

"You've found the ring and returned it to the Goddess?" He jumped at and actually seized Llovesi and Julan by a shoulder each, shaking them slightly. "Foolish, foolish, foolish!"

He dropped them, looking abashed.

"I'm sorry, friends. I didn't mean to snap at you both. It is a cursed object... I have heard many tales of that ring, and the evil Barilzar who created it. It was to be a means of teleportation for the wizard, but it was much worse than that. That ring was said to open gates to hellish planes, releasing creatures best left in nightmare. I've heard the ring was stripped of its power, and that only a god could use it now and not be destroyed. The thought chills my bones."

"I–I..." Llovesi didn't know what to say. Horror was making her mind blank. "I'm sure it won't come to that."

Plitinius looked at her sadly. "I hope your faith in the Goddess is well-placed, Nerevarine. In the wrong hands, I shudder to guess what evils could be unleashed on the city."

Llovesi and Julan looked at each other, and took off at a run. They didn't stop until they were banging on Barenziah's door.

The Redguard woman opened it.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked crossly. "The Queen Mother does not receive visitors except on appointment. Oh, it's you two…"

"Please let them in, Alusannah." Barenziah's voice rang out from behind the guard. Alusannah stepped to one side, allowing Llovesi and Julan into the room.

Barenziah was sitting as she had been the day before. She placed the book she had been reading to one side and placed her hands in her lap. "So," she said. "What have you discovered at the Temple?"

"We're worried we've done something bad," Llovesi said quickly. "Almalexia asked us to retrieve Barilzar's Mazed Band, and although she claimed that she would use it to serve the city, we're not sure what to believe."

Barenziah got to her feet hesitantly. There was a rumble like thunder from the darkening sky.

"I have heard of this thing, but I know very little about it. I've heard whispers about it, but few details. Some say it is cursed... some say it is not. I can't understand why the goddess would want such a thing. Some things are best left buried... and we should be wary of Gods with mortal failings–"

She was interrupted suddenly by another loud crack of thunder, but this one sounded closer to the ground. As if the stone slabs of the city themselves had suddenly given way.

Screams sounded from outside, as abrupt as a sudden dagger in the heart. Barenziah ran to the window with surprising speed, and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

Footsteps clattered down the corridor towards them, and the door was flung open.

"Apologies your majesty," the young guard standing there panted. "It is Plaza Brindisi Dorom."

He clutched his knees, attempting to get his breath back.

"What is it?" Barenziah asked urgently. "Speak."

The man, looked up, breathing hard. "Monsters have broken into Plaza Brindisi Dorom. Mournhold is under attack!"


	11. A Greater Threat

**A/N: Hello again! Who's ready for a Bank Holiday Weekend? At least, we have a long weekend here in the UK. Well, hope everyone has a wonderful weekend regardless of the presence or not of public holidays. Thanks again to you readers and you reviewers - you know who you are but, CampsMcCamper, krikanalo and Ozymandeos! CampsMcCamper - this is my favourite part of the DLC as well (I remember when Tribunal and it's ilk were called expansion packs, hah!) Which actually made it all the more difficult to write, because I wanted to do it justice while making my own story from it. But thanks for what you said about Julan. I think the relationship between him and Llovesi get's strained and difficult in Mournhold and it was tricky trying to balance that at times. Ozymandeos - yup! I do so love having my characters make blundering errors :p Even aside from all the dumb stuff your character has to do in Tribunal... hopefully Llovesi will start making amends soon.**

* * *

_**Chapter 10: A Greater Threat**_

The first splatters of rain stained the courtyard as Llovesi and Julan sprinted to Plaza Brindisi Dorom, along with a contingent of Royal Guards.

When they arrived, there was more than rain staining the cobblestones.

Everywhere they looked, destruction and death reigned. The great fountain was in ruins, both Almalexia and Mehrunes Dagon had been beheaded–and more besides. Stone limbs had carved paths of destruction: splintered cobblestones showed the routes they had taken to reach their new resting places. And from the great crack in the statue creatures spewed forth, like the ash from Red Mountain.

They were like nothing Llovesi had ever seen before. Great, hulking reptiles, some slim and silvery, others flatter and reddish, ran after the citizens of Mournhold, attacking without mercy.

The Plaza was in chaos. People were running everywhere, all trying to fit through the gates at once, tripping over rubble and pushing wildly in their attempts to escape. Many had already fallen, their faces now set in permanent expressions of terror. Blood pooled in the fountain water, blood splashed onto the stones.

Llovesi and Julan stood, momentarily dumbfounded, as High Ordinators and Royal Guards alike jumped into the slaughter.

"Attack the creatures!" they yelled. "Take arms! We must defend the city!"

Llovesi shook herself, and drew her spears, running into battle. She caught one of the slim, silver reptiles in its soft underbelly and stabbed into it, throwing it to the ground and allowing the sobbing woman it was pursing to escape.

Julan was firing arrows left and right. Some clattered harmlessly off the creatures thick scales, but others found their mark–in throats and soft bellies.

Llovesi sent a silent prayer of thanks to Azura for the weather as the clouds burst with even more ferocity, and the rain began to fall in vicious earnest. The summer storm meant the Plaza had been less full than usual, there were fewer people to fall victim to this sudden crisis.

A creature jumped onto her back suddenly, knocking her down, and she felt metal claws raking her cuirass. _Metal... ?_ But the creature couldn't punch through, and she felt it fall from her back. One of Julan's arrows had claimed its throat.

Llovesi got to her feet, and surveyed the Plaza. All of the creatures appeared to be dead now, defeated by the city's guards. She kicked over the one that had attacked her last. It was large, with a long neck and a small head, topped by a single horn. Spines like knives grew from its arched back, but that was not the strangest thing about it. The claws it had tried to rake her back with, and its legs and tail, were all fashioned from metal. Try as she might, Llovesi could not see the joins between flesh and steel. What was more, it was secreting a thick, white, oily substance from its mouth. Probably saliva, but like no saliva she had ever seen before.

She turned to the other type of creature, the hulking, red one. If she'd ever had to imagine a dragon, this creature might have come to mind, although it was obviously smaller. A great frill of red spines fanned around its fanged mouth, it's bright red scales faded to dull brown on its forelegs. Like the other creature, its back legs and its tail were not organic, but some strange metal. It was also secreting an unidentifiable liquid from its mouth.

What were they? Could they be of Dwemer-make? She had never seen a joining of flesh and metal in such a way. No wait, she had, but Yagrum Bagarn was worlds away from this. These creatures looked perfectly engineered, a far cry from the rusted and aged centurions that prowled Dwemer ruins on Vvardenfell, and that the Last Living Dwarf had appropriated into a mode of transport.

Llovesi straightened up. Horrified onlookers were still sobbing; being moved along by guards as other recovered the bodies–people and creatures alike. The rain was slowly washing away the blood.

Julan joined her, sheathing his bow, his hair plastered to his neck by the rain, although something else was obviously preoccupying his mind.

"This can't be a coincidence," he said.

Llovesi nodded in agreement. "We should find out where they came from," she said, already having some idea.

They approached the statue. A great crack had rent it in half, splitting it completely asunder. She kicked aside what had once been the stone head of Almalexia, and waded through the fountain water to pull herself up. There was a deep hole gaping between the stone combatants, threatening to swallow what was left of the statues up.

"You up there!"

She turned. A Royal Guard was calling up to them.

"You're the ones who've been visiting court, aren't you?" the guard shouted up. "This attack must be reported to Tienius Delitian!"

"I'll tell him!" Llovesi called back, "but not with half a report! We're going down here to see where the creatures came from!"

Julan cast a small light spell, and the orb bobbed softly around their heads as they lowered themselves into the passageway beneath the fountain. They didn't have far to climb down before they hit the bottom. A small stream trickled nearby, no doubt part of the fountain's source waters. Some of the debris had even made it down here. Llovesi carefully stepped over one of Mehrunes Dagon's axe-wielding arms, and rounded the corner of the passage. She could hear a frantic clash of metal on stone in the distance.

The passageway cut off abruptly, and Julan had to throw out an arm to stop her falling.

"Azura's star!" he breathed. "Would you look at that?"

The rocky passageway had opened up into a grand Dwemer hall, possibly the largest Llovesi had ever seen. Easily two stories tall, large pillars spanned its length, and remarkably well-preserved House Dwemer Banners hung on the walls. And on the ground, a battle was taking place.

Dwemer centurions, obviously larger than the ones they had seen on Vvardenfell, were fighting more of the strange creatures that had attacked the city above.

Llovesi and Julan dropped onto their stomachs to watch the action unfold. The bipedal centurions swung at the lizards with their mace-like arms, steam billowing furiously from their valves. Archer centurions were firing bolts into the fray. But the invaders were using their metal appendages to rent great holes into the Dwemer creations defending their hall. At the moment, there was no clear winner.

"Those things can't be Dwemer then," Julan said, his eyes fixed on the hall below.

Llovesi crawled backwards. "We've seen enough," she said. "Let's leave before they realise we're up here."

She examined the passageway as they returned to the hole that would take them back into the Plaza. It looked new, almost recently carved. As Julan had said, it all added up almost too well.

"Why attack the city, though?" she said aloud. "I can imagine Almalexia using that ring to fetch them from some plane of Oblivion, and carving out a passageway. But why would she attack her own city?"

"Because she's completely insane," Julan said pointedly, as they climbed back out of the passageway into the rain.

The guard was waiting for them as they emerged. "What did you find?" he asked.

"A Dwemer ruin," Llovesi replied. "And the centurions were fighting off more of those creatures."

The guard removed his helm, and ran an anxious hand through his hair. "As I said, you should take this news to Tienius Delitian. He should know. We'll stay here, and guard against further attacks. Go now."

* * *

Tienius Delitian was patrolling the courtyard, and his normal cool demeanour had disappeared. In fact, he looked almost agitated.

"Llovesi! Julan!" he barked as he caught sight of them. "I understand you helped in the defence of Mournhold against those... creatures?"

"We did," Julan said. "And we believe you should know what we've discovered."

All animosity between the three of them seemed to have been temporarily forgotten. Despite what he had done in the name of his King, it was clear Delitian truly cared about the fate of his city.

"You've investigated the disturbance?" he asked. "And what did you discover? I've already had reports that the creatures came from beneath the city, and were at least partly mechanical in nature. I know Dwemer ruins lie beneath the city, and were sunken with the rest of Old Mournhold in the First Era, for the Dwemer and Chimer were once briefly united. Perhaps these creatures are Dwemer in origin?"

"Impossible," Llovesi said, shaking her head. "We did find part of a Dwemer ruin below the Plaza, but the centurions were fighting the creatures. They were defending their home. The creatures cannot be Dwemer."

Delitian breathed out hard. "Interesting. I thank you for telling me this. You didn't have to, I realise I've given you no reason to remain loyal to the Palace..."

Llovesi thought back to the High Ordinators fighting alongside the Royal Guards, to her experiences on Vvardenfell, and to the brief alliance between the Chimer and Dwemer to which Delitian had just alluded.

"When a greater threat comes, enemies may often ally," she said.

Delitian nodded briefly. "Indeed. I think the King himself should hear what you have to say. He would like to speak to you. Follow me."

Llovesi bit her lip. Here she was, talking of allying, and now they were going to meet the one who'd been their main antagonist since arriving in Mournhold. But was now the time to bring it all up, when something more dangerous was threatening the city?

She remained silent, as did Julan, as Delitian led them back through the Palace's entrance hall and through the many winding corridors to the throne room.

The throne was occupied now.

King Hlaalu Helseth was smaller than she'd imagined, short and slim, though he swathed his frame in rich and impressive robes–a deep purple, with red panels, gold embroidery and trimmed with fur, despite the heat. A slim golden circlet, rather than a crown, kept his dark hair from his forehead, revealing clipped ears tipped with jewelled cuffs. His was an intelligent face, even in spite of what Llovesi knew about him. A thin, straight nose, a mouth that seemed naturally down-turned, a neatly trimmed beard, and narrowed, heavily lidded eyes that were watching her with some undeterminable expression.

_All he's missing is the sly smile_, Llovesi thought, as she and Julan stood in the room's entrance, dripping rainwater all over the green stone floor.

Helseth stood up, slowly, every movement a consideration. _Oh, there it is_. _A smile befitting a Daedroth._

"Ah... so you must be Llovesi and Julan. The ones Tienius has been telling us about."

The plural affectation was a surprise, but the Wayrest accent was not. Still it was disconcerting to hear a Breton's voice come from the Dunmer King's mouth. Neither of them replied, and Helseth approached, his expression still completely unreadable.

"The Queen Mother has spoken of you as well."

He stopped just shy of them, his hands behind his back. Llovesi suspected he didn't come any closer to avoid revealing he only came up to her shoulders.

"We understand you played a part in defending our city just now. You'll tell us what you learnt?" His voice rose slightly, sure, but it wasn't really a question. Llovesi recounted everything she had told Delitian.

"Interesting," Helseth said, although his tone of voice did not change. "You'll have to forgive us for the slight inconvenience earlier. We understand you were visited by some Dark Brotherhood assassins. A regrettable occurrence. They are usually a very effective group. Not always, though, we have recently learnt. We believe you might have presented a threat to our monarchy."

At this barefaced lie, Llovesi could no longer contain herself. "What?" she shouted.

Helseth's eyes darted like a reptile's.

"It is never easy for one to assume the throne, especially after the unfortunate set of circumstances that led to our beloved King Llethan's death," he continued. "There are those who would seek to profit from such events, to take the opportunity to create unrest among the people. There are those, even, who would wish to see us dead."

Llovesi couldn't even speak. Instead her eyebrows shot up her forehead.

"Does this surprise you?" Helseth asked, and she wondered if he was enjoying some game, or if he was truly as paranoid as people said.

"Even now, there are those that would see our head on a pike. What better way to achieve one's goals than to have others remove those that would oppose you? Surely you have some understanding of this? In fact, some of my informants have learned of a possible assassination plot against our royal person. I would like more information on this. However, I do not want to compromise the safety of my guards or of my informant. I believe, however, you would be suitable for this matter."

Enough was enough.

"Cut the guarshit, Helseth," Llovesi said.

The King stopped, his eyebrows still slightly raised.

"We know why we're really here. Delitian and your mother have told us as much, and we're not idiots. We're not going to run around the city on your fake errands while a real danger is out there."

Delitian was slowly turning an interesting shade of purple. All around, the Royal Guards were openly staring. You could have cut the atmosphere with a spoon.

"I see," Helseth said slowly, and the change in his use of pronouns was just as marked as the shifting atmosphere in the room. "Very well. Follow me."

He walked past them, apparently with the intent to lead them from the throne room. Delitian made to walk over, but Helseth simply raised a hand and he stopped. Was he leading them to their execution now? Llovesi slightly regretted her foot-in-mouth syndrome, but only slightly this time. She was still furious. Julan looked like he wanted to hit something.

Helseth took them to a nearby door, and opened it. It was another set of lavishly furnished apartments. Much like Barenziah's, except Helseth's room was occupied with desks, desks covered in papers, maps, books, quills and ink pots. The King made a gesture to the guards in the room.

"Leave us," he said.

Two of them turned to go, but the third, a thickset Redguard man with a shaved head, stayed where he was by one of the desks. This didn't seem to bother Helseth, for he turned to face them again.

But before he could open his mouth, Julan stepped forward and punched him hard in the jaw.

"My mother, you n'wah bastard!" he shouted.

Helseth fell to the ground, and there was a blur of red. Julan was pinned against the wall by the Redguard, a curious looking scimitar against his throat. The Redguard turned to look at Helseth, who was getting gingerly to his feet. The King shook his head.

The Redguard lowered the sword, letting Julan drop to the ground in shock, and stepped back to the King's side. Llovesi ran to Julan, helping him to his feet.

"Yes, I can understand that," Helseth said, rubbing his bearded jaw and wincing. "And now you've met Karrod. I met him many years ago myself, a deaf and dumb child wandering the streets of Wayrest. The boy actually had the audacity to try and rob my stepsister, Elysana. I marvelled at his courage, and took him into my employ. When a dog has been beaten, Julan, it will lick the hand of one who feeds it even the most meagre of scraps. Now he is my most loyal of servants, and one of my most deadly."

He paused, letting the words take effect in the strange ceasefire.

"So," he said. "We'll just forget that happened, and you'll remember that I am your King. You believe there is something I'm not telling you?"

Llovesi handed him her special copy of 'The Common Tongue'. "Just read this, _your majesty_," she said, shaking with ill-concealed fury.

Helseth read the broadsheet quickly, his eyes flicking over the print.

"I see," he said again. "This is... interesting. Perhaps it is time that I was honest with you. Enjoy it, because it's a rare occurrence."

He flashed her another smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Firstly, I am truly sorry about your loss. A regrettable accident I didn't anticipate. I wasn't lying when I said I initially believed you to be a threat. I didn't get to the throne of Morrowind by becoming lax over potential political opponents. But after your victory at Red Mountain, I began to wonder if perhaps you might even be willing to work with me on a problem. Hence why I... persuaded you to come over here. But I'll get to that.

"This... broadsheet." He waved it at them, before placing it on his desk. "A clever idea. I assume it's not the only copy. Perhaps you intend to blackmail me?"

"Why shouldn't I?" Llovesi asked roughly. "You blackmailed us! We've had enough."

Helseth strange smile didn't waver. "Words. Just words. And I've been watching you two. You never made an attempt to leave the city–"

"–Because we thought you'd kill us!" Julan interrupted angrily, but Helseth held up a hand and the simple gesture silenced Julan immediately.

"–You never made an attempt to leave the city. You didn't even try. And I think you wanted to find out more about the place, yes? I gave you the opportunity to do so. And now I think, even though you may leave, there is something keeping you here."

His smile became satisfied. "I understand my mother told you I was testing you. Tienius may have let something slip in that regard as well. I knew about 'The Common Tongue'–although I did not know its author. I knew about the Temple's feelings towards me, I knew about Ivulen Irano–poor fool–and I knew about the Hlaalu nobles' conspiracy. In fact, I even asked Tienius to hold off slightly on the executions to see what you would do. And you showed you have an element of mercy. Everything you found while 'investigating' corroborated what I already knew.

"So, you proved yourself to me. You've learnt about me. Now, you need to decide if you will help me."

"Help… you?" Julan snarled. "Why should we help you? You are an underhand murderer! You've had us playing your stupid games! You manipulated us into being here!"

Helseth said nothing, again staring at Julan until the latter looked mildly uncomfortable. "I... beg your pardon my King," he muttered finally.

"Everything I have done, I have done for good reason," Helseth said. "As I've said, Llovesi, I know all about you and the prophecies. And I know the Temple's position on the matter. My policy is to avoid involving the government in Temple matters wherever possible. But here, I see no other options.

"I have no great love for Almalexia, her Ordinators, or the Tribunal of which she is a part. In light of recent events, I believe it is time to take action.

"The attack on Mournhold was as unexpected to me as it was destructive to the city. And I make it my business to remain forewarned of this sort of event. Many believed the attacking creatures to have been Dwemer constructs, but we know now that this is not the case. These creatures were beyond anything dreamt of by the Dwarves, creatures it would take the power of a god to create.

"I believe that the only person who might shed more light on this situation is Almalexia herself. All indications are that these creatures must be the constructs of Sotha Sil, and only Almalexia is likely to have information about him. I wish for you to speak to her, learn what she knows about the creatures, and report to me. It is my hope that Julan will assist you in this, despite his animosity towards me."

"I do not hold you in any high regard either, _your majesty_," Llovesi said. "And this is just the latest in a long line of people asking me to do things for the good of the people. Almalexia manipulated me. But so have you. You're the only reason we were here in the first place. How do I know you're not just another player, in it for the power?"

"I cannot assure you of that," Helseth said simply. "You have to trust me."

Llovesi hesitated, and looked at Julan. She felt her ring, felt his thoughts. Helseth was no friend of theirs, but neither was he an enemy exactly–not in light of what they now knew. Almalexia–Almalexia was the true menace here. Right? She certainly couldn't trust him, but he'd got one thing right. She _did_ want to get to the bottom of Mournhold's ills.

"I don't know why you think my position as Nerevarine will help," Llovesi said finally. "The Temple isn't exactly my biggest fan. But I do care about the people of Morrowind. You think these creatures are Sotha Sil's creatures? We have our suspicions that the attack was Almalexia's fault." And she told him what the Goddess had bid them do, how she had felt charmed into helping her.

Helseth frowned slightly. "If what you say is true, then we only have more reason to investigate her. But yes, I am quite sure these fabricants are Sotha Sil's creations. He is known for his Clockwork City, his experiments in fusing flesh and machine into enchanted abominations. None have seen the Tinkerer in centuries, from what I understand. I distrust these man-gods, especially ones I cannot find. Perhaps he and Almalexia are conspiring together in some madness. You can do something about this."

So it came down to madgods, and the mortals who faced them. Llovesi squeezed Julan's hand for comfort. Helseth's smile was dangerous as he watched them, as intelligent as his eyes, Llovesi realised. Because she would help. It was one of her many weaknesses.

"We will go once more to Almalexia," she said. "But we want no more heartless games, no more dishonesty."

"Of course. We have an agreement, then. But I do think it would be best if you did not return to the Palace until the matter is concluded. Almalexia has no reason to believe we may be allied. Do not give her one. And, Llovesi, I will now formally remove the restrictions keeping you both from leaving this city. But I think we all know you're staying."

Llovesi nodded, her heart cold, and turned to leave with Julan. Once more to the Temple then, and from one Daedroth's mouth into another.

Helseth held up a hand. "Before you go, Llovesi, I wish to give you a token of our good faith."

He went to his desk and opened a drawer, retrieving a small wooden case with a carved design. He undid the latch, and held it open before her. Laying in a groove within the red velvet inlay, was a ceremonial glass dagger with a custom sheath that matched the pattern on its box.

"This was Symmachus's, my father's, ceremonial dagger. I assure you it is as deadly as it is beautiful. Use it in this defence of my city if you have the need, but do not disgrace his memory."

Llovesi nodded, knowing it would perhaps not be wise to refuse this particular gift, and lifted the dagger gently from its box, before tying it to her belt next to the Fang of Haynekhtnamet.

Helseth waited a while after they had gone, Karrod silent by his side. Then the King turned, and spoke:

"You can come out now."

Barenziah stepped from behind a screen, smiling. "I told you the plot idea was a foolish one. But that went better than expected, all things considered. You have done well my son."

* * *

**A/N: I don't know if anyone is following this story on my blog (probably not if you're reading it here)but if you have already read this chapter (the story being a little further along there) I'd just like to say sorry for all the changes - mainly dialogue and Helseth related. Everything I upload to the blog is very much beta - which is why there hasn't been a new update for a while. I've been editing, and re-editing, and pulling my hair out over chapters 10-14. So. Many. Changes. Trying to decide what I want to put in and leave out, how subtle I want to be, getting the tone and relationships right, what dialogue I want to occur... needless to say there've been a lot of headaches over this chapter and the ones that will follow. But, as they go up here on FFnet, they reach their final version and one I'm more-or-less happy with. So yeah, sorry for all the editing if you've read this before, I promise I'll leave it alone now. And I hope Helseth and the direction of the plot live up to your expectations!**


	12. Desperation

**A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I was so worried about it, seeing as it was the first one to pretty majorly diverge from the original Tribunal storyline and into my own. But seeing the reactions it got made me so happy. You guys rock! Ozymandeos - thanks for mentioning the political intrigue, I feel that's one of my weak points and it's also part of what makes Tribunal so compelling so it was important for me to get it right. CampsMcCamper - that's so nice of you to say! And, innocent-minded that I am, I didn't even notice the humour potential in that line! Oh dear :p krikanalo - thanks for your review. Again, detail is one of my bug bears - I feel I either use far too much or too little. Good to know it worked. This chapter was another stressy one for me I'm afraid, and one I've spent much time rewriting. Still, hope you guys enjoy it!**

* * *

_**Chapter 11: Desperation**_

This was war. Not the sword-wielding, magicka-blazing, all-armies-fighting kind, but the lines had been drawn all the same. And because it was so subtle, Llovesi and Julan knew that they couldn't just barge into the Temple and demand Almalexia tell them all she knew. They had to play along, coax it out of her. But they knew where they stood now.

The Winged Guar was strangely empty as they took their breakfast and, when they left the tavern, Llovesi and Julan soon realised why. A Dunmer man in a pure white robe, barefoot, was preaching loudly from the terrace. As everyone else was, Llovesi and Julan gave him a wide berth. Llovesi understood that after the attack the previous day people might turn to extremes to reassure themselves, but barefoot zealots seemed like a nosedive for the worse. She blocked out the man's carrying words as they headed towards the Temple gardens, not noticing that he was now attracting a small crowd.

Fedris Hler barely batted an eyelid as they strode through the reception area of the Temple.

"Back so soon? The Goddess may have more tasks for you. She has informed me that you are to report directly to her."

Llovesi merely nodded at him. There was a strange pressure building in her chest, and she didn't trust her mouth not to speak unbidden words.

She took Julan's hand firmly as the entered the High Chapel. She didn't know if she would be able to resist Almalexia's charms. It was easy to talk of such things in the safety of the place, or in their room at the Winged Guar. But she would try.

The Goddess seemed to have barely moved since their last encounter. She stood perfectly still on her plinth with her guards; her eyes fixed on Llovesi as she and Julan stopped at a safe distance, then raised her arms in a gesture of welcome.

"Llovesi. We have pressing matters to discuss. There is a disturbance in my city."

"Yes... the attack on Plaza Brindisi Dorom..." Llovesi started, feeling the twisting nausea in her stomach as she fought to resist Almalexia's latent powers.

But the Goddess shook her head, a gentle smile alighting upon her lips.

"The disturbance in the Plaza has abated for now, and those fabricants–"

"How did you know they were fabricants?" Llovesi asked abruptly and, with her question, knew she could resist. "You weren't there."

Almalexia took a step towards them, and they took a step back cautiously. But all she did was cast a look up and down Llovesi's body, sweeping from her face, down her abdomen to her feet and up again.

"Almalexia knows and sees," she said, then paused. "But I sense you are not satisfied. I am concerned about this attack. I sense it is a murmuring from my long silent God-brother, Sotha Sil."

It was as Helseth said. Llovesi didn't know what to believe. She, like Julan, had been so sure Almalexia had caused the attack, that the gradual loss of her powers had driven her insane. But here the Goddess stood before her, reinforcing Helseth's suspicions. And maybe a small part of Llovesi did want to believe Almalexia was not insane, that she wouldn't attack her own city. A small part that had nothing to do with any charms. "You think Sotha Sil attacked the city?"

Almalexia shook her head and continued in her melodious way: "I cannot be sure yet. I need time. Perhaps the Tinkerer grows unstable, but perhaps some machination of his has betrayed its master. There is a more pressing issue to be dealt with. I speak of another disturbance. People are still dying in my city, Llovesi. And I fear these deaths are very much to do with a cult that has recently gained in popularity. They call themselves the 'End of Times', and they are led by a young Dunmer called Eno Romari."

Llovesi was suddenly reminded of the man in the white robe that they had passed earlier. She had presumed he was preaching in Almaleixa's name, but they hadn't stopped to listen. So people were frightened by what was happening in their city, and they were turning to religion–a religion that wasn't the Tribunal. But if people were dying…

"Tell me more about these deaths," Llovesi said.

"We believe they occurred just last night. So far, at least seven bodies have been found. All dead, all in their homes. It appears they ingested a strong poison, and not even my powers could revive those who were found and brought here. We must find out what drives this group, and rid my city of their presence. Speak with Meralyn Othan, a resident of the Great Bazaar apartments. Her brother Sevil was one of those found and she has indicated to our Temple that she is willing to help investigate. Learn what you can about the cult, Llovesi, and of this Eno Romari. Take care with him, though. The words of a martyr cry louder than those of a zealot. I do not want him killed."

* * *

"A good thing too," Julan said, as they walked over to the Great Bazaar. "As if she honestly believes we're going to go killing people on her orders?"

"Maybe she does. We know she's taking a harder line on Temple matters these days. But we wouldn't kill if Helseth asked us to, so we won't kill for her either. I just hope she finds out more information about Sotha Sil soon."

Llovesi wasn't happy running errands for Almalexia after what had happened with the Mazed Band, whether Almalexia was behind the attack or not. The reactions of Plitinius and Barenziah kept springing to mind. But Barenziah had been the one to suggest she went to Almalexia in the first place, and now Helseth was repeating his mother's request... Llovesi felt she was becoming caught in some bizarre struggle between Palace and Temple, but if it meant the safety of the people of Mournhold, she would continue.

Mournhold's Great Bazaar was of course known for its myriad of shops, covered market stalls, and entertainment venues. It was said you could find anything there: from the newest play, to the rarest potion ingredient, from the finest silken shirt to the freshest baked sweetrolls. You could even find housing, if you needed it. For those who could not afford the well-kept townhouses or sprawling manors of Godsreach, but still wanted to live in the inner city, there were apartments to rent above the many shops in the Bazaar. Mostly, they were rented to tradesfolk, along with the store space beneath them. But some of them were rented to average folk too, those with the coin for location but not space. It was in one of these small studios above the bustling summer street that Llovesi and Julan found Meralyn Othan.

She sat, her hands folded in the lap of her simple yellow dress, brown plaits swinging forlornly by her head. Next to her, on the bed, a white sheet covered the distinctive shape of a body.

"... he was so trusting," she was saying, her shoulders shaking slightly. "He was no fool, he just wanted someone or something to believe in. He thought he had found that in the 'End of Times'."

"What can you tell us about this cult?" Julan asked, while Llovesi boiled a mug of herbal tea for the grieving woman.

"Thank you," Meralyn said, taking the steaming mug. "And thank the Temple for their charity in sending you here."

She took a deep breath, and her next words were as bitter as the tea between her hands.

"They are a suicide cult, plain and simple. Their beliefs are destructive, heretical, and frightening to me. I don't know how my brother ever got involved with them! I'm beginning to see them all over the city, and I believe their leader has most recently started preaching outside of the Winged Guar, spouting his nonsense to passers-by and the drunks that stumble in and out of that place."

Her voice broke slightly and the mug trembled between her hands. "They must have given him some poison... I came home to see him with the bottle. He swallowed it before I could stop him and... and..."

She gulped a mouthful of tea. "I fetched Ungeleb, the alchemist downstairs, as soon as I realised that I... that I could do nothing. But none of his antidotes worked!"

"But why would the members of the 'End of Times' commit suicide?" Llovesi asked gently.

"This cult... they preach that the Tribunal have lost their powers, and that this is a signal that the apocalypse is near. Eno Romari teaches his followers that our time in Tamriel is at an end, and the gates of Oblivion will soon open and the Daedra will walk the land. Only the ancestors who have already left this world will remain once the Daedric scourge covers the earth. And so he promotes what he calls 'the Cleansing.' This is the... suicides. They are killing themselves so that they do not have to face what they believe is to come."

She blinked back tears. "Nonsense! Lies! And now my brother is dead, all because of this lunatic, Eno Romari!"

Llovesi wished her well, and they stood to go. Meralyn's words worried her for more than one reason. Because the Tribunal _had_ lost their powers. And she knew that Almalexia knew this. She was beginning to suspect this was no act of charity they'd been sent out on, Almalexia wanted this cult gone–for what? Pride? Or was she truly concerned about the damage it might cause? And speaking of damage, was the Tribunal's loss of power really that significant?

So lost in her thoughts she was, she didn't realise the connection between Eno Romari and the strange man they had witnessed earlier until Julan pointed it out to her.

"So he preaches outside the Winged Guar, does he? What do you reckon it's that robed nutter we ran into this morning?"

"I suppose he must be," she said, coming out of her thoughts. "We should go and talk to him as well, to see what he has to say for himself."

The Dunmer man in the white robe was stilling on the terrace calling to a passing family, who hurried out of the way, pulling their children with them. But he now had a small crowd hanging onto his words: a few Dunmer, a young Imperial couple and an older Redguard man.

Llovesi and Julan made their way to the front of the crowd towards the preacher. He caught sight of them waiting, and called out across the small group:

"I must stop our message here for now, good people of Mournhold. But return tomorrow, and I shall continue to ease your minds!"

The small crowd mumbled in apparent discontent, but they all moved on. The preacher slipped his hands inside his sleeves and turned to Llovesi and Julan.

"I saw you leaving this place of refuge this morning," he said. "I am Eno Romari. My greetings and blessings upon you. How may I ease your journey through this life?"

"You can start by telling us more about this cult of yours," Llovesi said.

Romari looked mildly surprised. "Cult? We are a peaceful _group_, dedicated to relieving the suffering all are feeling in these troubled times. I teach my followers the way to enlightenment, through understanding of what is happening in our world and what is to come in the next. All of my people know the importance of preparedness for the coming troubles, and many are willing to make great sacrifice for our cause."

"Get to the point," Julan said roughly, displaying his usual finesse with religious types. "We know about the suicides."

"It is a glorious _ritual_," Romari said, apparently insistent upon his terminology. "Our followers cleanse themselves of all of their troubles, all of their burdens here on this earth. They send themselves ahead to the ancestors, spreading our word, making ready for when we shall all join them in our fight against the Daedric hordes."

"What do you mean 'Daedric hordes'?" Llovesi asked.

"Ah." Romari smiled serenely. "But this is at the core of our beliefs. Let me explain! The blessed Tribunal, though once filled with glory, are no longer the Gods they once were. As with the tides and Tamriel's moons, all cosmic powers will wax and wane. But, when Gods die, it creates ripples throughout the lands. The passing of the Three will be a prelude to the end of this era, and the beginning of the next.

"We realise that the end of the era will bring many changes. We believe that the gates of Oblivion will open, and the multitude of Daedra will roam this world freely. Some might tell you that this is a good thing, that we are descended from the Daedra and it will be a return to the natural order of things. I know differently, though. The coming age will be a time of great horror.

"The Daedra Princes are not our ancestors. Nor are they our allies. They will wash over the land, destroying all that man and mer have built over these thousands of years. The only protection from this scourge will be our true ancestors that have gone before us and watch over us even now. Many of our followers choose to participate in the Cleansing, to prepare the way for the rest of us. It is a sacrifice to be sure, but it is for the greater good. Are you interested in joining us?"

"Not on your life," Julan said hotly. "I don't believe a word of what the Tribunal says, I don't believe this either. Azura watches over us, whether you like it or not."

Romari dropped his expression of peaceful serenity and looked highly affronted. Llovesi pulled Julan away before he could say anything else.

"Well, what do you make of that nonsense he was spewing? The ancestors don't work like that!" Julan said hotly. "This is the last thing people need! First they have Helseth poisoning everyone left right and centre, then the Lady of Egoism treating them all like stupid children, now a mad preacher literally telling them to kill themselves!"

"I think people will believe anything when they're desperate enough," Llovesi said slowly. "And we don't _know_ if the Tribunal losing their powers will affect anything. But they're not dead, just becoming mortal, and all that stuff about the Daedra does sound ridiculous. And you're right, this cult is dangerous. So we should tell Almalexia, and get it stopped."

* * *

Almalexia stepped forward, her exquisite golden eyes widening, betraying an emotion different from her usual serene demeanour.

"A suicide cult? In my city? What have you learned about their beliefs?"

"They say that the Tribunal has lost its power," Llovesi said, after a pause. "That it is a sign the Third Era is coming to an end. They believe the Daedra will soon walk the land, and this is why they are choosing to kill themselves–to join the ancestors."

Almalexia did not move, but her golden eyes blazed. When she spoke her voice was a whisper, the lightest of breezes, but a breeze that hid a tempest.

"They would dare...? So, the Tribunal has lost its power, has it? These fools would dare question Almalexia's power, here in her city!" Her voice rose dangerously high.

And suddenly she was pacing furiously in front of them, her composure a thing of the past.

"I will give them a lesson in power, Llovesi, and you will be my agent! They must be reminded of the true power of a God! But how, when so much of my power is absorbed with the aftermath of this attack?"

She continued to stride in front of them, her crimson curls shaking, her eyes burning hot and her fists clenched.

"You will go to these Dwemer ruins below the city, the ruins of Bamz-Amschend and activate the Karstangz-Bcharn."

"The what?" Llovesi was totally nonplussed. She felt Julan squeeze her hand, felt a thought from him. _Be careful_...

"Loosely translated: the Weather Witch. At its height, the Dwemer civilization was masterful in the use of machinery. In a time of drought, Dwemer scholars were commissioned to create a machine that would bring rain to their lands. They created the Karstangz-Bcharn. Its existence was little more than a myth until recently, when the ruins opened beneath my city. I wish for you to activate the machine, make it to create ashstorms in Mournhold. Then, these heretics will know the power of Almalexia!"

"You... you want me to bring ashstorms here? Here, to Mournhold?"

Llovesi thought back to Vvardenfell, to the cities that had learnt to deal with the harshness of life in the ash. It was a life that could be lived, but it meant coming to terms with the wastelands that made up your surroundings. Here, in Mournhold? As much as the city represented bad memories for her, it was undeniably a beautiful place: a green, vibrant, alive place. Llovesi thought of the damage that could be caused. And the people–the people would be completely unprepared. They would be hurt. The time had come to decide–Helseth or Almalexia?

Power, that was all either of them cared about. But for all his faults, Helseth had probably never wanted to use an ancient and mystical Dwemer machine simply to display his own power. He had never threatened the safety of the city as a whole. Llovesi clenched her free hand. She was under no one's control. She had kept her own mind.

"I will not."

Almalexia had been talking, but she suddenly stopped, shock still.

"What did you say?" she whispered.

"You heard me!"

Almalexia shook her head, smiling. "You are confused, my good and faithful servant. You do not know the words you speak. You must come and bathe in my Light..." She started forward again, but Llovesi took a step back.

"No! I will not! I will not hurt your people this way! You claim to care, but all you care about is your own power! This is not about your people! This is vanity!"

Almalexia did not raise her voice. She did not narrow her eyes, or hiss in anger. She stood, frozen perfectly still in front of them, and in a way it was the most dangerous pose of all.

"You would defy me? I am a God! But you are not a God; you cannot understand what it is to _be _a God. And you would destroy what you do not understand – wouldn't you Nerevar?"

Silence dropped between them, as sweet as understanding. Almalexia was still smiling, but perhaps without hidden barbs. Her face was as angelic and hopeful as a lover's. All anger was gone, perhaps it had never existed at all.

"It _is_ you, isn't it?" she asked softly, looking as if she wanted to reach out, but didn't dare for fear of breaking some illusion. "My Nerevar, returned to me at last! How I have waited! When I heard of what you had done at Red Mountain, I thought perhaps you were just some Imperial impostor–some Hero, perhaps–but now I see it in you. Nerevar."

The final word was a whisper, a plea. And it seemed she could no longer contain herself, for she stepped forward once more, soft skin glowing, from the plinth towards Llovesi. Her arms were outstretched, her lips open and searching...

"I am Llovesi. Nerevar died long ago, at Red Mountain." Llovesi's words were harsh, perhaps a little harsher than she intended but she did not regret them. This was just Almalexia, trying to charm her way into getting what she wanted.

A long tear slid down Almalexia's fine nose, and she dropped back as if Llovesi had slapped her, choking on a sob.

"But you know that," Llovesi continued, her words no more than a bitter whisper now. "You betrayed him. You killed him, you and the others, so that you could become Gods. I did what I had to on Red Mountain, and I have made my own life in this province. I am not your Nerevar."

Almalexia dropped her head, and when she looked up again there was something wild in her eyes, yearning to be set free.

"Yes, you have made her own life," she snapped. "Living with straw and mud and animals and this _savage_!"

Her words had turned to a weapon. Julan reeled, as much from the blow as the sudden acknowledgment of his presence. He clasped Llovesi's hand tightly as fear washed over both of them, uncharacteristically silent, but Almalexia hadn't finished. Something burned deep inside her eyes, an untamed fire had finally been let loose.

"I know what he is to you, and I know what hunger takes you in the deep of night. You talk of betrayal, and you stand with him in front of me–day after day. A bug-eating, primitive worm! Almalexia _knows_ and _sees_."

Was it jealousy, to burn so deep and hard? And her eyes pressed onto Llovesi again, but still she did nothing. She smiled before them, a tight-lipped thing, then returned to her plinth. "Very well," she said sweetly. "You spite me, and you shall see that maybe Almalexia is capable of more than you think. This is not the last time we shall speak. Now leave me."

It was not spoken as a threat, but it was all the same. Though the six silent High Ordinators, the Hands of Almalexia, stood still, Llovesi and Julan felt the latent danger in the room. So they fled.

There is a very specific feeling, a feeling that quickens the pulse and causes one to truly take stock of one's surroundings, to look around at the beauty in the world and ask: "how am I still alive?" Llovesi and Julan felt it as they broke free from the stone walls of the Temple and clutched each other in the open gardens.

"She had a sort of _look _in her eyes," Julan said finally, and as they moved away from the Temple his voice grew stronger. "If her eyes were daggers I think she'd have killed me there and then. Let her try, the vile kagouti!"

"I was an idiot to speak to her like that," Llovesi said, her eyes hollow. "We are in over our heads. But she let us go..." They were walking back to Godsreach, their heads lowered. She had done what maybe no one in centuries had done. She had said no to Almalexia. She felt a dull panic rising in her chest, a cold, clammy kind of panic.

"What do we do?" she whispered, at a loss for the first time in months. "What do we do? She _is_ dangerous. We've seen her true colours now. Even if she didn't attack the city, her strange turns of mood will harm us all. And if Sotha Sil has gone the same way, everyone is in a lot of trouble, more trouble than they or we know. We need to do something. But what do we do?"

* * *

In The High Chapel, Almalexia had vanished. There had been nothing more to indicate her disappearance than the sudden rush of air, moving in to fill the space where her body had been.

The Hands kept their heads lowered. Such disappearances were not so unusual. Often the Goddess had things she wished to do. She always returned, in time.

But one of the Hands was deeply troubled. Like Galsa Andrano, like others in the Temple, Salas Valor was growing uneasy with his Goddess. Such thoughts were blasphemy, and went directly against his ordainment. Like all of the Hands, he was required to stay in his Goddess's presence, listening in her defence but not to her words. However, he had been unable to prevent himself from listening to her latest exchange, with the two Dunmer: the tall, scarred one and the man who always stood by her side. And now he realised something had to be done. Even if it did go against everything he'd ever believed.

He raised his head, turned, and left his position on the plinth. He knew where the Goddess kept her most secret things. He knew what he had to get, and he now knew whom he had to talk to.

The only thing he didn't know was whether it would work.


	13. Storm and Strife

**A/N: Hello to everyone still reading along! And thanks to krikanalo and CampsMcCamper for reviewing the last chapter. I tell you, if I keep getting reviews like that I'm going to get such a big head! But thanks so much, the support means everything to me! Speaking of support, I'm so happy to say that Fire and Ash has now got over 5,000 views, and people are still reading it. That probably isn't a lot at all in the grand scheme of Elder Scrolls fanfiction, but it's certainly more than I ever thought it would get. Onto this chapter, which I'm happier with than the last two, though I am obviously still playing fast and loose with Tribunal's storyline and interpretations of Almalexia. I should probably slap down a warning before we start (apologies if I've forgotten before, the language is a little stronger in this fic, but it does say in the summary I guess):**

**Warning: for potentially offensive language and depictions of violence.**

* * *

_**Chapter 12: Storm and Strife**_

Llovesi and Julan held each other for a long time that night before they drifted off to sleep, and when they did it was a restless and uneasy slumber.

They'd spent the rest of the day fruitlessly trying to come up with an idea of what to do: how to approach Almalexia again, how to learn more about Sotha Sil and the attacks. How to help the people of Mournhold in the escalating hysteria. Eno Romari's voice carried loud over the noise of the street below as people made their way between taverns and eateries. It seemed that Almalexia had yet to deal with him.

But they'd come up with nothing. The best Llovesi had suggested was to go back to Almalexia alone, apologise, and persuade her that dealing with Sotha Sil was the best way to comfort her people and restore her faith. But Julan would hear nothing of her going back alone, not after the encounter they'd just had.

"Almalexia is guar-faced whore!" he'd whispered ferociously, braver now they were alone, before holding her protectively close.

Llovesi was glad for his companionship, she always had been and she knew she always would be, but she did not like the path his thoughts were taking. Almalexia had made the rivalry between herself and Julan explicit, and it still wasn't something Llovesi could quite wrap her head around. At least she now understood why Helseth and Barenziah both had stressed the importance of her being the Nerevarine. _They must have known she'd be like this. But why do they want me to goad her?_ _It's just going to end badly for _everyone. And now a line had been drawn, a line between her husband and a Goddess of the Tribunal. She knew that both of them only saw one way out.

Could you kill a God? That was a moot point, Llovesi supposed. Dagoth Ur was dead, wasn't he? The Heart had been the only thing tying him, his Ash brothers, and the Tribunal to immortality. It wasn't really a question of 'could', it was a question of 'would'. Julan felt Almalexia was dangerous enough to warrant taking care of. Llovesi still thought neither her nor Sotha Sil had done enough to condemn them, not yet. Vivec's words came to mind. "_Can you, mortal, presume to judge the actions and motives of a God?"_

Llovesi rolled over resolutely and tried to go to sleep. Yes, she could judge the Tribunal for what they had done to Nerevar. She could judge a God if they had caused direct harm and had the intention to do so again. Neither Sotha Sil nor Almalexia fulfilled those criteria at the moment, no matter how unhinged they were.

* * *

That same night, Salas Valor was in the most central and secret part of the Temple, and he knew his time must nearly be up. Sweat poured furiously down his forehead and his breath was shallow, but he hadn't wanted to waste time by removing his armour.

He was on his knees in Almalexia's quarters. The Goddess rarely slept, so it did not truly resemble a bedroom in any conventional sense. There was a bed, but it seemed to have never been lain upon, and was almost ornamental in its presence. Instead, the Goddess used the room as a safe space for all the possessions she had amassed over the years.

Salas Valor searched through chest after chest, his fingers brushing countless priceless objects: trinkets and rings, embroidered cloths and sheathed weapons. He knew what he was searching for: the Goddess had mentioned it only once in a sermon, but it had stuck in his mind ever since.

But how much time did he have left? The Goddess would surely return soon from wherever she had decided to go–her trips never lasted long. And he had no intention of being in the Temple when she did come back. His fingers trembled as his ears strained to grasp any small noise that might be a warning.

He shifted a burnished shield that held powerful resistive enchantments and hissed a sharp intake of breath between his teeth. _There it was_.

* * *

The dream was strange to be sure, but she'd had stranger. It wasn't really the images that disturbed Llovesi as she tossed and turned in bed next to Julan, so indistinct they were. It was the sounds. It was the screams. And she shook in her sleep until the movement dragged her through the many dark and hazy pressing layers, and she woke, wrapped in the sheets and shivering, despite the humidity of the room.

The screams were real.

So was the howling. And it was a howling that Llovesi knew well, a howling that had pricked the hairs on her neck and caused her to look around ever since she had first heard it. The howling of an ashstorm.

She kicked off the sheets and ran to the window to see that the glass panes were rattling with the force of the wind. The world outside was a greyish-brown blur. She could see trees being tormented, their branches whipped and their leaves stripped as the wind pulled them this way and that, and the ash bit into their greenery, leaving ragged holes.

She saw people, fighting against the storm, fighting to get to shelter, but blundering in the dense clouds. It was hard to tell at a distance, but was the ash tearing into their skin, just as easily as it tore through the foliage? Llovesi knew it must be. And if the screams were any indication, it was forcing its way down their throats, filling their lungs. They wouldn't last long without help.

She jumped back from the window, pulling on her clothes and armour as fast as she could. Numb shock was evaporating now, and something that burned both cold and hot was taking its place. Rage. Perhaps it was also a sort of disappointment. She had expected more of Almalexia. Had hoped, somewhere deep down inside her, that the Goddess was capable of _more_. But she had staked her pride over the well-being of her city, for who else could have caused these ash storms?

Llovesi was furious now, as wild as the tempest outside. _How dare she_. How little regard she had for these people. She strapped her weapons to her back and belt with shaking fingers. Sotha Sil and his creatures be damned. Almalexia was going to be taken care of. Today.

Suddenly, a large branch was ripped from a tree, and it sailed through the air into their bedroom window with a wall-shaking crack. Julan sat bolt upright, the bedsheets falling down to his waist.

"What was that?" he panted.

The branch was gone, but thin, spidery cracks had appeared in the windows thick glass. Another blow like that and the storm would claim the room.

"Almalexia has realised she doesn't need faithful slaves to carry out her every whim," Llovesi said, slinging her pack over one shoulder. "Now, I'm going to let her know what I think of this development."

Julan jumped from the bed and ran to the window as fast as his legs would take him. He paused there a moment, knuckles turning white as he grasped the sill. Then, he turned back to Llovesi, and his panicked face was gone, replaced by a grim expression of determination.

"Yes," he said. "I think we should."

* * *

Salas Valor could hear the howls and the screams from the sewer, and he cursed himself as a coward for not springing to the people's aid. But the object he now carried was too precious to risk losing. Not until he could be sure she was near.

If the sounds coming from above were any indication, the Goddess herself had achieved what she had asked of the stranger, of Llovesi. It did not surprise him. She had a certain bull-headed stubbornness that only drove her further in her ambitions. The word 'no' was an alien concept. He still had to stop himself mentally scolding his own thoughts, for slowly he was beginning to realise the liberty in thinking them. _My Goddess is a mad creature, and I hold in my hands the key to her defeat_.

He took the object carefully in his hands, and unwrapped it slightly from the cloth he had shoved it in. It shone down here in the murk as brightly as it had shone above. Perhaps it could be mistaken for a small dagger, admittedly of a curiously outlandish design with its short, curved, spiked blade and carved grip, but he knew it was part of something so much bigger.

He leant his head back against the damp tiled wall and sunk slowly to the ground until he was sitting in the inch of muck that filled this branch of the Temple sewers. Now he had to wait. From what he'd been able to guess of Llovesi's character, she would come soon, and when she did, the detect life spell he'd created would reveal her to him. So he sat, as the wind beat furiously upon the ground above and the cries of the people of Mournhold rattled though the tunnels. And he waited.

* * *

Llovesi had left her chitin helm in Vvardenfell, and Julan had never had anything of the sort, so they had to improvise. They took the gauze from their curtains and the sheets from their beds, fashioning head wraps with a protective layer for their eyes. All while they worked, the wind and ash continued to beat on their window. There were no more screams from outside which meant either everyone had managed to find shelter or...

They went down the stairs into the bar area. Forlorn eyes stared back, those of men, women and mer who'd come to seek refuge. Many had the distinctive ash scrapes lashed into their unprotected skin, ugly red-raw rashes weeping beads of blood. Most were huddling together, more than a few were praying. Ra'Tesh, the bartender, was occupied, fetching blankets, food, and drinks to calm nerves. All the eyes in the room followed Llovesi and Julan as they made their way to the door.

Hession stepped forward, moving between them and the door. Her normally slick bun was winding loose, and tendrils of silver-golden hair were escaping down her face.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice trembling but her posture firm.

"To stop these ashstorms," Llovesi replied, her voice slightly muffled by fabric.

"I can't let you leave," the Altmer said, her voice growing in strength. "These people," and she gestured to the ash-worn refugees, "barely got in without bringing the ash with them."

Sure enough, patches of ash swirled round the front door and Hession's feet.

"Besides," she continued, "we know that the storms will not stop until Almalexia wills it. She has brought them upon us for being faithless. They started around two hours ago. Then the High Ordinators came and told us 'the ashstorms will stay until you learn to appreciate all that the Lady of Mercy does for you.' So we pray, and we hope she hears us."

The fervent, whispered prayers in the room were growing louder. Llovesi was aware of everyone's eyes upon them.

"If you want to help," Hession said. "Join us in prayer. Do not risk causing us more harm."

Julan reached for his sword and unsheathed it slowly and audibly.

"Let us out," he said. "Now."

Hession stared at his blade, then drew herself up imperiously. "Fine," she said. "Fine. Leave then. But do not expect to be welcomed back."

She moved out of the way. Julan sheathed his sword and reached for the door handle. He twisted it and the latch clicked, then the handle was wrenched from his grasp as the wind kicked the door in. Llovesi and Julan barely had a moment to collect themselves before they were pushed outside and the door slammed behind them.

The wind tore at their head wraps immediately, but the knots held fast. Llovesi squinted through the raging brown-grey clouds, horrified by what she could glimpse. Part of her wanted to stop and stare, but she knew they couldn't. The trick with an ashstorm was to keep moving, head bowed and limbs tight to the body. Stay still too long, and the ash had time to accumulate, work its way into the folds of your clothing and weigh you down. Worse, it also had the chance to find any unprotected bit of skin, and slice into it mercilessly. The storms had come so suddenly, the people walking the streets had had no chance. Llovesi could see some of them. Dark forms slumped in the streets. Maybe some of them were still alive. Llovesi blinked back furious tears. She couldn't go to them, had nothing to give them, not enough magicka to heal them all.

They pushed onwards towards the Temple district. The ash was piling against houses, forming banks and drifts. The trees were bare now, the branches writhing in the winds like electrified limbs. The flowers might have never existed at all. Everything was grey, everything was brown, and no living thing walked the streets.

How many hours it took them to struggle through the streets, Llovesi and Julan didn't know. It was impossible to tell the position of the sun through the clouds, the little light they were receiving let them know it was still day at least. Finally they reached the Temple gardens, now a wasteland. Llovesi felt that somewhere Gee-Pop Varis must be weeping the loss of his life's work. Then she gasped, because as they rounded the Temple to come onto its steps, they could see people.

Many, many people, mostly Dunmer, all swaddled in protective clothing, were lying prostrate on the ground before the Temple. Others were raising their arms in supplication. Among them and at the foot of the great steps, Eno Romari was striding. His face was covered too, but his white robe shone even through the swirling ash. He was shouting something, waving his arms, but those praying were shying away from him. Llovesi and Julan drew closer.

"The Goddess has created these storms to show us true power, but power through fear! She means to draw us back to her, a cruel mother reining in her children! Resist, people of Mournhold! Do not pray to the Goddess! Come into the light of realisation! The End of Times is near!"

Suddenly, and silently, two high Ordinators came down the steps from the Temple, and seized Eno Romari from behind. His protests were lost to the wind as they dragged him backwards up the steps. The Dunmer before the Temple neither seemed to notice, nor care about his disappearance, so lost they were in their own prayers.

Llovesi and Julan followed the High Ordinators up the steps and towards the Temple door, but before they could reach it, another Ordinator ran out towards them. She recognised his armour–it was the same pale gold as the Hands of Almalexia. Llovesi drew a spear and the Dagger of Symmachus, and moved into a fighting stance, but the Ordinator was waving something at her and shouting. She hesitated, then moved in closer to hear the words coming from within his Indoril helm.

"... she must be stopped!" he was shouting hoarsely. "You must take this and reforge the blade! Reforge the Blade of Nerevar! Reforge Trueflame!"

He pushed the wrapped object at her, and Llovesi sheathed the dagger she was holding and took it. It seemed to be a dagger itself, though strangely angular in design, with a spiked blade.

"Find a master craftsman!" the High Ordinator was shouting. "Seek help in finding the other parts of the blade. It is the only way to slay a God becoming mortal in battle! You must ref–"

He was cut off, by a sudden silence. The winds had stopped. All around them, the ash was frozen in motion, as if time itself was being held still. Llovesi stepped backwards, feeling the ash brush and stick against her armour like warm flakes of snow. The praying Dunmer below them were gazing up in wonder.

"Salas Valor." The words rang out all around them, motherly and warm, gently admonishing, yet rich and powerful.

The High Ordinator was backing away, back towards the Temple. Suddenly he stopped, as if he had bumped into something invisible. Slowly, very slowly, his helmet was lifted from his face. His hands flew up to stop it, trying to pull it down, but it was pulled irresistibly free of his fingers. His hair was dark, his face handsome but distraught, his eyes were wide and full of fear, and his mouth was forming silent pleas.

"You have betrayed your Goddess, Salas Valor. Leaving my service. Speaking madness and blasphemy in front of my Temple."

Llovesi felt a vibrating in her hands, and looked on in shock as the strange dagger was lifted free of her hands.

"You have lost your mind. You are not responsible for your actions."

It moved through the air, slow as time itself, until its warped tip was touching Salas Valor's forehead. Then it began to push.

The scream it tore from the man was unbearable. All around them the praying mer had stopped and were rising to their feet, covering their eyes and ears in shock. Llovesi wished she could tear her eyes away from the tortured man in front of her, howling as the blade dug its way through his skull. He sunk to his knees, fingers grasping desperately at the ground, and Llovesi could take it no longer. She drew her dagger once more, and ran to his side. Then she bent over, and slit his throat, holding him as he died.

There was a bright flash of golden light as Salas Valor slumped to the ground, and Almalexia stood before them.

There were screams of joy and terror from the assembled crowd as she raised her arms in front of the strange scene, coating herself in the suspended ash. As Vivec had, she seemed only more alien outside of her Temple, and it was a bewildering sight.

"My champion," she said, indicating Llovesi as the latter bent to remove the dagger from Salas Valor's head. "My Nerevarine has taken care of a problem that could have plagued as all. She has brought the peace of understanding to Salas Valor, my rogue Hand, and dealt with him. The pain is almost more than I can bear, but see how she has served me faithfully!"

Her voice rose, impossibly loud, over the crowd who, as one, began to bow.

"You must all serve me faithfully! Until then, until I am convinced of your loyalty, these storms will continue."

A great cry of anguish went across the crowd, but Almlaexia was already turning back to her High Ordinators, who had fanned out of the Temple behind her.

"Oh yes," she said, as she passed Llovesi. "I did promise you would see Almalexia is capable of more than you think." Her eyes flicked to the strange blade in Llovesi's hand, and she smiled.

"Take the man."

Ordinators came forward, grabbing Julan forcibly by the arms.

"No!" Llovesi shouted! "No!"

But it was too late. With one last smile, Almalexia sent the same bright golden light around them, and then they were gone. High Ordinators, Almalexia, and Julan.

"No!" Llovesi yelled again, but it was almost a strangled whisper. She ran to the doors of the Temple, tugged at the ornate handles, but the door was unyielding. She beat upon it with her fists, but still it stayed closed.

She took several disbelieving steps backward and sank to her knees beside the corpse of Salas Valor, the object he'd given her hanging loosely in her hands, and she wept, as the wind began to howl again and the ash began to tear at her clothes, her heart, her soul.


	14. Fractured Blade

**A/N: Thanks again to my ever faithful reviewers and readers - you make my day! Hello and thank you to new followers! And happy September to everyone (aka, where has the summer gone I start school in a month ahhh!) One thing that's clear from the reviews I've got is I'm definitely not portraying Almalexia in a sympathetic light at all! Llovesi and Julan's views may not necessarily reflect my own ;) But at least their views are coming across! Also, I hope I'm not portraying Julan and Llovesi as too co-dependent! They can definitely be apart and work separately when needed but kidnapping... that's a different story! Now onto today's chapter!**

**A minor warning for language.**

* * *

_**Chapter 13: Fractured Blade**_

It felt like an age, sitting on the Temple steps in the storm, her head bowed and her mind reeling. Llovesi thought Mournhold had drained her of every possible emotion–grief, anger, frustration and guilt. But this was all of them and more, a great, confusing lump in her throat choking her. And rage too, more rage than she had ever thought she might feel after the past week, because now that cold-hearted, snake-faced _bitch_ had taken the one person who meant anything to her in this cursed place.

Julan, Julan was gone. It was an absence she couldn't bring herself to believe; she kept expecting him to run free of the Temple with a grin on his face. A grin that said 'it's okay, I got away! Now, where were we?' How could he be gone? How could she have failed to stop them? Her gaze fell again on the strange weapon in her hands and she brought it closer to her face as she stood up. There was one thing she could do now, one thing that would make this all okay. She would _kill_ the golden harpy in her own Temple. And then she'd go after Sotha Sil too, and anyone else deranged enough to threaten the safety of people she cared about.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. The pilgrims had come as a crowd, up behind her. Their leader, his hand still on her shoulder, shouted over the winds:

"Nerevarine! We must serve the Goddess, as you do! What must we do?"

She glanced once more at the dagger in her hands.

"I need a master weaponsmith," she said. "You can tell me where to find one."

* * *

Llovesi burst through the doors of the Craftsmen's Hall to find it deserted. That didn't deter her though, and she strode through the empty corridors towards the smithy. She flung open the carved metal doors to find the workshop was empty, the embers of the forge were dying and no hammers were clashing on anvils.

A half-naked Dunmer ran into the room, struggling on a pair of breeches, but stopped when he saw her standing there.

"We're closed," he said hesitantly, somehow managing to work '_what do you want?'_ and '_go away!' _into the small phrase as well.

"I need to–"

"Didn't you hear me? I said: 'we're closed'. None of the apprentices are here. Everyone is at home, waiting out these storms."

"You're here," Llovesi said pointedly.

"Yes, well." Then man shrugged desperately, his muscled shoulders rising up and down in a comically exasperated motion as he fought with the ties on his breeches. "Me and Yagak rent the side room. What of it?"

Llovesi unwrapped the strange dagger and held it up. "I need to speak to a master craftsman about a blade."

The man sighed, rubbing a weary hand over his bald pate.

"You're really not going to go away, are you?"

"No."

The man sighed in apparent frustration again, then seemed to give in.

"Fine," he said. "Well you've come to the right place. And you're even luckier Yagak is in. We're both smiths, but I'm the armour guy, and he's weapons. Hey Yagak, get out here!"

An Orc walked through the same door the Dunmer had, slowly and already dressed in some dented steel armour that he wore like clothing. Unlike the Dunmer, he looked perfectly ready to face the day.

"What is it, Bols?" he asked. "Don't tell me we've got a customer!"

He caught sight of Llovesi.

"Huh, looks like we do. Well, whaddaya want. I'm here to make blades, not conversation."

"I want you to make a blade," Llovesi said, and showed him the piece Salas Valor had given her.

He took it, turning it round in the light of the dying forge, testing the point with his calloused fingers. Then he handed it back to her.

"Looks like you already have a blade. Bit of a strange dagger, old design to boot, and all those angles probably won't hold up in the long term. Whaddaya bothering me for?"

"It's part of something bigger," Llovesi said. "Have you ever heard of Trueflame?"

Something like realisation dawned on Yagak's face, and his eyes opened wide.

"Follow me," he said, leading her past the confused Bols, who'd finally managed to lace his breeches.

The Orc led her through to the back room, a neat if lonely-looking place. Two un-made beds were the only mark of scruffiness. Elsewhere there was a single table with two chairs and a few unwashed dishes, parchment with several sums and scrawlings, and some shelves with a few personal effects. It all spoke of quiet bachelor-dom. Yagak crossed to the shelf of books above one of the beds and withdrew a slim, dusty volume.

He blew the dust from the title, and showed her. In neat, spidery, Daedric lettering were the words: _Kogo gah-julan: On Dwemeri Weapons_.

"Julan," Llovesi said. "It means benefit'." Her heart felt as if someone had tossed it into a pestle and mortar. If Yagak noticed her discomfort, he didn't say.

"Yeah," he said instead. "Altogether it means something literally like 'unbreakable great benefits'. It's a catalogue of Dwemeri weapons created by a Chimeri scholar in the time where they were allies. Very rare book."

He placed it carefully on the wooden table, and opened it with even greater care.

"I tracked down a copy for my interest in Volendrung. I come from a long line of Malacath worshippers, ya know. But there are other weapons in it. Like the Twin Blades: Hopesfire and Trueflame."

He turned the book towards her, and there they were: detailed woodcuts of two scimitars. One slim and elegant, one larger and with cruel spikes on its hilt, both wreathed in flame.

Llovesi held out the blade piece she possessed. It matched part of Trueflame's hilt exactly.

"The blades were presented to Nerevar and Almalexia at their wedding by the Drawf-King Dumac. They are described as the best of Dwemer craftsmanship, and each burnt with an enchanted fire. But no one's heard of them since the First Era. And here you are, holding part of Trueflame's hilt. How on Nirn did you come by this?"

Llovesi didn't answer, but instead held the blade piece out. He took it from her in wonder.

"I can do something with this. S'not like I have anything else to do. It would be an honour to reforge the Blade of Nerevar. That is, if you can find the other pieces. I could make a replica with the information I have, but it would be nowhere near as good as the real thing."

"Any idea where those pieces could be?"

"I'm not an artefact hunter, just a weaponsmith. Ask someone with a historical interest, maybe a writer–if you can find anyone willing to talk in this weather. And maybe Torasa Aram in the Museum of Artifacts will know something. If I know her, she's probably been tracking the blade since birth."

Llovesi thanked him profusely and left him poring over his book and the piece of the blade. She already knew where she was heading first. The Museum of Artifacts was in Godsreach as well. After that... A writer and a historian? Maybe Plitinius Mero would know something about Trueflame. It would mean going back to the Palace but, Llovesi figured, it was probably too late to worry about that now.

To her great surprise, a few guards were now patrolling the streets when she left the Craftsmen's Hall–perhaps looking for those injured or worse by the storm. One managed to give her directions to the museum district, after lecturing her for being out in the storm. She ran over, pushing against the storm, knowing that every moment wasted was a moment where something unthinkable could have happened to Julan.

The Museum of Artifacts was nestled between the far larger Museum of History and Culture and the Mournhold Art Gallery ('Special Exhibition: Rythe Lythandas, The Landscape View–One week only!') It was small, but no less grand for it, with its marble pillars, sloping green roof and intricate gables.

Llovesi pushed on the door, and found it open. Inside the museum was dark and dusty, a few lit lamps cast shadows onto the face of one bored-looking Ordinator. There were many carved greenstone plinths set with faded red cushions and covered with glass screens. Most were empty, but some bore objects–a few rings, some quite unique looking pieces of armour. The objects all looked infinitely more cared for than the rest of the museum, with its threadbare rugs and peeling wallpaper. Llovesi approached one of the larger plinths to examine the dark ebony cuirass in the case. A small yellowed piece of card read: _The Lord's Mail. (Armour of Morihaus/Gift of Kynareth)_.

"Found anything that interests you?"

The bright voice came out of shadows, and Llovesi nearly stumbled into the glass case in her shock. She turned to see a Dunmer woman with frizzy brown hair and wearing rich golden clothes that were just as fussy and faded as the woven rug beneath her feet.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the woman said. "I wasn't expecting any visitors in this weather. Not that we get many anyway. Lucky that the storm trapped me here, or you would have found the door locked! So, the Lord's Mail? It is an ancient piece, said to grant protection against magic and most poisons. A high-ranking member of the Imperial Legion brought it here only a few weeks ago. Is there anything else you're interested in knowing about?"

Llovesi held up a polite hand, cutting the woman off.

"Sorry, I do tend to go on," the woman said with a smile. "I just love talking about Tamriel's artefacts. Please. You have a question?"

"Are you Torasa Aram?" Llovesi asked.

"Why, yes I am. Curator and proprietor of the Mournhold Museum of Artifacts! How can I be of assistance?"

"Do you know anything about the whereabouts of the pieces of Trueflame?"

Torasa's eyes went perfectly round, like little red pearls in her face.

"Pieces of the Blade of Nerevar? Why, if I knew where any part of the Fractured Blade was hiding, it would be on display here I assure you! I'm afraid I cannot help you. I do have something from roughly the same era, if you are interested."

Slumping, but seeing Torasa's desperate enthusiasm, Llovesi agreed, deciding to extract herself as soon as possible.

Torasa led her away from the main area of the museum, down a back corridor.

"I don't even have it on display, because I haven't been able to positively identify it yet," she said, unlocking a door at the end of the corridor, revealing a small office with a desk and some crates. "It's a shield of Dwemer make, but not traditional in any sense of the word. The pieces of it just don't seem to match, and I've wondered if it isn't some sort of a fake."

She lifted the lid off one of the crates, and rustled around in the straw before withdrawing a large Dwemer metal shield and setting it on her desk, pushing papers aside to make space.

"I'm classifying it as a Dwemer Battle Shield," she said, with a hint of pride. "As I said, I'm not sure what to make of it. The spike attached to the front of the shield seems to be loose"–she took hold of it and twisted to demonstrate–"but a competent smith could take care of that. I haven't wanted to spend the money without a positive identification, as the funding we receive is entirely for purchasing artefacts. And really, _nobody_ seems able to identify it. Those clowns at the H&C next door have been no help. They don't seem to take my work seriously at all!" She sniffed indignantly.

Llovesi half-listened to the woman's impassioned speech. She was transfixed by the spike in the centre of the shield. The spike that so closely resembled the blade piece she already possessed.

"Can I have it?" she asked breathlessly.

Torasa's eyes were round again. "Ah, so you're interested? I don't see how it can help you, but I'm afraid I can't just part with it like that anyway. I'll need some compensation."

Llovesi sighed, annoyed with herself for being so clearly eager, and unloosed her coinpurse from her belt. Of course Torasa wasn't just going to part with a piece from her collection for free.

"How much?" she asked.

Torasa shook her head. "Oh no, like I said, we already receive some funding. I'd only need more if I wanted to identify it, and I won't be able to do that if you take it off my hands, will I? No, I'm more interested in new pieces for the museum. Unique items, amour, weapons of lore–things like that. If you would be willing to donate a couple, I'd be willing to part with the shield."

"I don't know what I could have that would be good for the museum," Llovesi said slowly, but her heart was sinking. She knew that Torasa might be very interested in what was currently sheathed on her belt. The direction the other Dunmer's eyes were taking seemed to confirm this.

"May I?" Torasa asked, gesturing towards Llovesi's daggers. Llovesi drew them both and placed them on the desk nest to the battered shield.

"Incredible!" Torasa breathed, examining them both from a distance, as if she didn't dare touch them.

"The ceremonial dagger of General Symmachus? How did you come to possess this? What a local treasure! And, ah yes, The Fang of H–well, the blade forged from a dragon fang, surpassed in its wonder only by its difficulty to pronounce. Are you willing to donate this pieces in exchange for the shield?"

Llovesi felt another pang in her chest. Helseth had said she should use the Dagger of Symmachus in defence of the city should she need to, but she wasn't sure this was what he had in mind. And the Fang... it had protected her more times that she cared to think, since she had prised it from the hand of Dagoth Araynys. But, and she knew she had been resolved in this decision from the start, they were more than worth giving up if it meant getting Julan back. And saving Mournhold.

"Yes," she said.

"Then we have a deal," Torasa said, and her smile suggested to Llovesi that maybe a shrewd mind hid beneath the dizzy exterior after all. Perhaps she'd had her eyes on the daggers ever since Llovesi had walked in.

Never mind. Llovesi picked up the shield and slung it over her shoulder, over the strap of her pack and her spears. She would get Yagak to look at it later, but first...

"Good luck to you!" Torasa called, as Llovesi left the cramped office. "If you're able to recreate the Blade of Nerevar, I'd love to see the finished product!"

* * *

Llovesi didn't waste another moment, and as soon as she took her leave of the Museum of Artifacts she hunted in her bag for her amulet of divine intervention. Squeezing it to draw the spell out, she disappeared.

She reappeared in front of a large altar with statuettes to each of the Nine Divines, in a simple green stone room. The Palace's branch of the Imperial Cult, she presumed.

Over Zenithar's anvil and Stendarr's horn, Llovesi saw a dark-haired Imperial woman in a green robe run over.

"Are you hurt, sister?" she asked, coming round the altar to Llovesi.

"I'm fine. Do you know where Plitinius Mero lives?"

The woman looked puzzled. "Plitinius Mero? I can't say I know the name... Crito?"

An Imperial in a blue robe came into the room through a side door, his arms full of potions.

"Yes, Laurina?" he asked.

"This Dark Elf is looking for Plitinius Mero."

"The writer who keeps to court? I can't say I know where you'd find him, but anyone who was in the main courtyard took shelter in the entrance hall when these storms came. Perhaps he is among them. We're taking supplies over there now. That's where all the other priests are."

Llovesi offered to help and, taking a box of gauze while Crito collected potions and Laurina filled her arms with preserved food, they all made their way through the Palace to the entrance hall.

It too was transformed in the aftermath of the storms' arrival. Llovesi placed the box of gauze on a nearby bench, and surveyed the hall in shock. _There must be nearly fifty people in here..._

The large flagstones were littered with blankets and ash-worn figures with blank faces huddled together. Imperial priests were moving through the crowd, bathing scrapes and offering sips of healing potion. Already people seemed to have accepted they would be there for a while. A couple of Dunmer children were sitting on the edge of the large planter, staring at the flowers and cacti numbly.

Llovesi spotted Plitinius Mero the side of the hall, nursing a large scrape on his forehead, and she rushed over.

"Ah, Nerevarine," he said. "These ashstorms do not bode well. What can the Goddess be thinking?"

Llovesi knelt down beside him. "Whatever she is thinking, it will only bring more harm to Mournhold. I mean to stop her somehow. What can you tell me about Trueflame?"

"The Blade of Nerevar?" Plitinius's eyes opened wide in shock, and he winced, adjusting the cloth he was holding to his forehead. "They say it was lost many an age ago, shattered into three in the Battle of Red Mountain. Why?"

"I wish to reforge the blade. I have two pieces: to make the hilt. I need the blade as well."

"An attempt to reforge the blade of Nerevar. Interesting... and you believe the blade is somewhere in the city? I wish I knew where to tell you to look, but my knowledge of the sword is somewhat limited. Perhaps you could consult the Lady Barenziah. One never knows what she has heard."

"Thank you, your advice is appreciated," Llovesi said, hoping beyond all hope that the blade would be in the city. She hadn't considered the alternative, and now she felt she might be grasping at straws. Gently, she took the cloth from his forehead and touched his scrape with two fingers, healing it.

Plitinius touched his forehead and, seeing that his fingers came away clean, he smiled. "Thank you. The Cult are worried that with their limited provisions they will not be able to help everyone in the Palace. Few are willing to venture out for supplies. We must make do."

"I'll bring an end to this, I promise," Llovesi said, standing to go.

A page accompanied her all the way to Barenziah's apartments. When Barenziah herself opened the door, Llovesi had to fight a strange urge not to run into her arms.

She had never known a mother or a father. The comfort of a parent's arms was not something freely available at the Imperial City Orphanage. Her master, Aulus Ambustus, had been kind but just that: her master. She supposed Mashti might have been a mother to her... And the sight of Barenziah standing there, queenly and powerful yet possessing something soft and kindly, and the fact that Julan could not be with her this time, made all these long-buried feelings rush to Llovesi's head and pricked tears in her eyes.

Barenziah said nothing, but stood aside and let Llovesi into the room. Haltingly, regaining her strength with every word, Llovesi told her everything that had happened in the past day: Almalexia, Julan, Trueflame. Barenziah watched her, her eyes glittering strangely. She looked almost gratified, but that couldn't be right, Llovesi thought.

When Llovesi had finished, the Queen Mother spoke one word. A name: "Karrod."

"Your son's bodyguard?" Llovesi asked.

"The very same. He carries a blade that is of ancient Dwemer design. But he is more than just a bodyguard. In fact, Helseth has made him his champion. I do not think he will give up his blade on request. You may have to challenge him for it. A duel."

Llovesi swallowed, remembering the last time she had challenged someone to a duel.

_Wow, Llovesi! You're going to fight a duel to the death? Honour and all that stuff?_

An echo from the past. And remember what happened last time...

Karrod's face swam before her eyes, and she didn't want to kill him. But then she saw Julan, borne across the room by the Redguard. How smoothly the blade had found his throat. The curved blade. Like a scimitar... She needed it, desperately, and if besting Karrod in battle was required she would go willingly into the fight.


	15. Old Fire

**A/N: Hello and good afternoon! (or morning/evening...) Thanks for reading along, and thanks to Ozymandeos and CampsMcCamper for your kind reviews to the last chapter! Here's the Karrod fight you're been waiting for! I hope it's okay, I struggle with sustained fight scenes like this, and I also tried to give it suitable framing and context - but anyway, duel time! Now I'd better go work some more on Chapter 17, I'm really starting to catch myself up :/**

**Another minor language warning for this one.**

* * *

_**Chapter 14: ****Old Fire**_

The room was dimly lit, the stone floor cold.

Julan woke up.

He coughed raggedly, sweet air flowing into his lungs. Well, sweet air was an overstatement–it actually tasted rank, hot, and dusty–but it was sweet to him. He had thirsted for it like a parched mer thirsts for water.

How long had he been out? His head thumped dully as he tried to sit up, tried to piece together what had happened. They must have hit him pretty hard...

Then he roared out loud as he remembered. Llovesi! That guar-faced bitch had forced Llovesi to kill her Hand out of mercy, then tried to imply Llovesi had been working for her all along! Then she'd turned on him and...

Another groan escaped him as Julan threw himself in vain at the bars of his cell.

* * *

Llovesi wasted no time in making her way to the throne room, fighting the urge to sprint, as she knew she would need all of her energy.

_The roar of the crowd as every footstep brought her closer to the arena, the sand, the blood and destiny..._

The doors to the throne room were open and Helseth was sat in his throne, urgently discussing something with some royal guards. She could see Karrod, standing by his master.

Helseth looked up briefly, then caught her eye. Something dark passed over his face, but then it was gone and his expression was impassive again, as if it had never been any different. He made a gesture to the guards and they left the room, leaving Helseth and Kaarod alone as Llovesi approached.

Hesleth stood up.

"Well, this is a surprise," he said. "I presume your... investigations are concluded? For I distinctly remember _advising_ you not to return until they were. With the current conditions in my city I would've thought it of the utmost importance."

"Things have changed," Llovesi said. And she told him about Almalxeia's relevance to the ash storms, Julan, Salas Valor, and of Trueflame being the only solution.

"Now, I wish to duel your champion for his blade," Llovesi finished, gesturing to the scimitar at Karrod's hip.

The Redguard's eyes widened slightly as she pointed, but neither Llovesi nor Helseth noticed.

"Well, well," Helseth said, giving her an appraising look. "Duel my champion for his blade. And if you should lose..."

"What?" Llovesi asked. She realised the thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

"If you lose, I'm sure you'll think of something. Of course you have some contingency plan. You're not one to gamble my city's safety on the outcome of a duel."

Llovesi's heart thumped in her chest. "I don't suppose he could just... give me the sword, could he?"

Helseth's daedroth smile sprang to his lips. "Let's see what Karrod thinks."

He turned to the Redguard and made several complicated hand gestures. Some sort of language involving gestures, Llovesi realised, as Karrod nodded slowly in response, never taking his eyes from Llovesi.

"Very well," Helseth said. "Karrod is in favour of a duel. The stakes are yours, and yours alone. I think, given the circumstances, we should hold the duel here, in this room. There are none to witness it, none to talk of it, and I do not think your, ah, intentions regarding the Goddess should reach the ears of others.

"You see the pillars in the hall?" He pointed them out, tall, twisting green stone columns that bordered the dais where the throne sat. "To step beyond them is to forfeit the duel. You will not use any magic. All other fighting techniques are allowed. You will begin on my command."

Llovesi heart pounded fiercely again, and she pulled the Dwemer Shield from her shoulder and both her spears from her back in a fluster. "Now?" she asked.

"Oh?" Helseth raised an eyebrow, as he sat back in his throne. "I was under the impression you were in a hurry."

Karrod stepped forward, raising the scimitar and moving into a defensive stance.

"Have I mentioned Karrod has never been defeated in battle?" Helseth called out as Llovesi backed up, finding space. _The bastard is enjoying this_, she thought, _all because I outsmarted him the other day_.

"Begin!"

_Bolvyn Venim in his dark armour with his dark looks and his dark pride,,,_

And Karrod, towering and broad, in the deep red armour with his scimitar raised high, charging like lightning...

She dodged, but barely. Karrod's blade caught her in the side as she twisted, the blade tearing a hole in her armour and causing a dull pain to spread across her ribs. She would have a nasty bruise.

She hardly had time to remember to dodge again before the blade was flying through the air towards her face. She ducked, and felt it whistle overhead, but now she was rolling on the floor grasping for her spears as she dropped them.

She had the feeling Karrod was only just warming up.

_The jeers of the crowd as the sword bit deep into her leg..._

But no, this was here and now, scrambling against hard stone in Mournhold, far from Vvardenfell. Fighting bad, fighting distracted, ever since she'd come to the city, and was it any wonder why...

_Llovesi..._

That was not a voice from the past. The ring on her finger pulsed with the briefest warmth.

_Julan? _Had she imagined it?

But it reminded her why she was doing this.

Llovesi pushed herself back up, got a hold on both spears and, crossing them at an arms length in front of her chest, she caught Karrod's next blow and threw him back. Perhaps that surprised him. There was no change in his expression.

They circled each other now, the pace dropping a notch, each waiting for the other's next move.

Her side throbbing, Llovesi held her spears in a defensive stance, twirling one slightly. Given how the fight had started, she knew better than to take Karrod on the offense. Better to try and anticipate...

Too slow. He caught her again, and a bright red gash split the material covering her right lower arm. Unconsciously, she dropped the spear that arm was holding and lifted her fist to heal–

"No magic!"

Helseth voice was like a whip and Llovesi cursed internally, letting the arm drop as it rapidly became useless and her blood spread like an ink blot from the gash. She was wounded, and Karrod didn't have a mark on him.

_Why are you fighting like this_? This was no memory, no hint of Julan. This was herself again as she dodged the Redguard, him pushing her back as she tried to stay in with a chance.

_Always fighting cornered, what happened to fighting smart?_

Mournhold happened to that.

_Where's some of your old fire? What are you doing this for? Let him see you burn..._

Julan's face was in her mind again, but also Almalexia, her patronising smile draped across her beatific features.

Llovesi's rage flared, but instead of erupting from her in flame, she put all her strength into thrusting her spear. The tip caught Karrod in the stomach as he readied another blow, and it caught him hard. His armour dented, and a soft _oof_ escaped his mouth as he dropped back.

It was the only sound in the room, save her own panting and the clashing of weapons against weapons, weapons against armour and the particular whistle of Karrod's scimitar as it sliced the air.

No crowds roaring. Only Helseth, silent on his throne with his legs spread and resting his bearded chin on his hand.

No cries or yells. This would be for Julan, and every strike with her spear brought him back to her. She would _burn_ for him.

Karrod was fast and he was strong. Each blow that she blocked pushed her back, each dodge was a missed opportunity to strike. When she did strike, driving the butt of her spear in his chest and stomach, it merely bounced off or dented his impenetrable armour. But his head, his neck, those were unprotected.

He raised his sword high and swung fiercely for her chest. This time, instead of blocking, Llovesi ducked backwards. She winced as her injured arm caught her weight on the ground, a sharp bolt of pain tearing through the wound, but she rolled, then took her spear in both hands as Karrod stepped towards her. She struck his legs with all the force she could muster, aiming for his shins. The Redguard's momentum took him and he tripped and tumbled. Llovesi dove to his left and rolled again, pulling herself to her feet and cracked Karrod hard across the head before he could rise. He slumped face forward, like a wall of stone crumbling, and she placed the sharpened glass of her spear against the back of his neck...

"Hold!"

Llovesi stopped, uncertain, the tip of the spear pricking a small bead of blood at the nape of Karrod's neck. She couldn't do this. She couldn't go through with it. She was almost glad the voice had called out.

But it was not Helseth's, though the Wayrest accent was similar. It was muffled, as if the speaker was talking into the ground. She watched, dumbfounded, as Karrod dropped his scimitar and raised his hands, climbing up slowly and turning to face her.

"I am beaten," he said, his voice steady and soft.

Llovesi heard Helseth rise slowly from his throne behind her, the fabric of his robe brushing against the dais as he approached.

Karrod reached down and took his scimitar in hand again. A large lump was forming on his shaved head and he touched it lightly, a rueful smile touching his lips.

"You are the greater warrior, Llovesi."

Llovesi's tongue pushed its way through her shock. "You don't fight so badly yourself," she said, clutching her wounded arm as her blood stained her fingers.

Helseth's hand fell to her shoulder, and he pulled her aside.

"You speak?" he asked, staring at Karrod.

For the first time since Llovesi had seen him, Helseth looked genuinely shocked.

She turned to face the King as he studied his champion, the three of them standing in a strange formation. Karrod simply shrugged.

"I may have at first chosen to conceal certain things in self preservation," he said in his slow manner. "But everything I have since done over the years has been in your service, my king."

He bowed low before Helseth, still clutching his scimitar.

"Hmm." Helseth's face was a mask again. "Perhaps there is more to you than meets the eye. But a shrewd champion is better than an obtuse one. And you, Llovesi." He turned to her. "I find it hard to believe you have succeeded. I am, despite myself, impressed. Perhaps there are depths to you as well. Very well. Do what you came here for."

He returned to his throne, leaving her facing Karrod. Ignoring the bleeding in her arm just a little while longer, Llovesi reached out with magicka glowing at her fingertips.

"May I?" she asked.

Karrod bowed his head and she reached up, lessening the egg on his forehead. Then she used what little magicka she had left to stitch her own wound, wincing at the pain as the skin knitted itself together slightly.

Karrod was examining his scimitar with a sad smile.

"My father gave me this weapon," he said. "When I was just a boy. He had it from his father, he from his mother and so on. He told me that as long as it was wielded by our line, we could never be defeated in battle. He said that the day I fall would be the day its rightful owner came to reclaim it. I had to face you, to know you were the one."

He held the sword out to her, hilt first.

"I give it to you freely. I know why you must have it, and I wish you the best. May it serve you as well as it has served me."

Llovesi took it. She expected to feel some rush, maybe accomplishment, or recognition. But it was just a sword. She didn't even know how to use a scimitar properly. It was unusual true, with its spikes, carved handle and the shallow depression that ran through the metal. Mundane for now, but hopefully not for much longer.

"Thank you," she said. "I promise to do your family proud."

Karrod nodded, and made to return to Helseth's side. Llovesi was seized by a sudden idea. She holstered her glass spear and seized the one she'd dropped, a wrought-silver spear with a deadly tip.

"Karrod!" she called, and threw the spear out to him.

He caught it with a surprised smile.

"From one... warrior to another," Llovesi said. "We should not be without weapons in these times."

"Speaking of which, shouldn't you go?" Helseth asked from his throne. "Remember I give my word that what has passed here will leave none of our lips."

"Thank you," Llovesi said, though she struggled to muster any feeling of gratitude for the man. She picked up the Dwemer Battle Shield from where she'd placed it, held the scimitar firmly, and left for the Craftsmen's Hall at a run.

* * *

It was deep night when Llovesi finally returned to the Craftsmen's Hall, but Yagak was still awake.

"Interesting." He took the scimitar from her hand and examined it carefully; comparing it constantly to the image in the book, open on the table before them. Then her took the shield from her, and snorted.

"Hope you didn't pay too much for this."

He took the spike at the front, and demonstrated how it had been clicked into a small catch. A simple tug with his sinewy hand, and the hilt piece was free. He tossed the shield back to her, and Llovesi caught it, staring in wonder at the three pieces of the blade.

"S'just a Dwemer Shield. Nothin' special. These pieces however–I can do something with this. Make the best blade you've ever seen... not that I figure you'd know a daikatana from a butter knife."

He winked.

"Okay. I'll start tonight. Come back in two days' time, and I'll have your blade. Now leave me alone."

"Two–two days?" Llovesi was aghast. Who knew what could happen in two days? She needed it _now_.

"Yup. Two days. Don't look at me like that. Forging takes time, else you get a sloppy job. No apprentices in to help, remember." He snorted again, looking reverently at the blade. "Not that I'd let them get their grubby little hands on this in a month of Sundases."

"But what am I meant to _do_?"

"Search me." The Orc carefully shut the book, and just as carefully picked up all the blade pieces before heading back into the main workshop. "Wouldn't recommend going back into that storm. S'blowing something awful fierce now. Go have a wander around. Bother someone else. Get out of my hair."

With that he left her, standing in the cramped quarters.

Llovesi watched him go, feeling only helpless. Then the ring on her finger burned.

_Llovesi?_

She stared at her hand; sure she hadn't imagined it this time. Wild hope beat furiously in her chest and she tapped the ring desperately with her other hand.

_Julan?_

Nothing.

Then...

_...Llovesi?_

_Julan! You're al–you're okay!_

_Llovesi... can't... well... some barrier... are... okay?_

His mind was foggier than it had ever been, his thoughts coming as if from a great distance, each one barely distinct. Was he hurt? Or hidden in some secret prison? He was okay, that was what mattered.

_Julan, I'm coming for you. I'm working on something to defeat Almalexia, and I'm going to get you back. Just hold on for me... just a little bit longer._

There was no reply, but it had been enough.

* * *

The waiting was by far the worst part. Llovesi rattled around the Craftsmen's Hall like a spare part in a machine. At first, she tried ignoring Yagak and watching him work, but the Orc pointedly refused to do anything until he was left in peace. Even Bols Indalen, the Dunmer armoursmith, was banished from the main workshop.

Llovesi didn't fancy her chances with the storm. Her recent excursions had worn her down, her arm had mended roughly, and the large bruise painted across her ribs ached dully. She didn't think there was any chance of Hession welcoming her back into the Winged Guar, nor did she particularly care to join in their vigil.

Instead, she found the former workshop of 'The Common Tongue'. It was a ghost of a place now, light patches where printing presses had once stood, dust settling on the empty tables. She traced her fingers through a patch of this dust, thinking of how she had stood there with Julan. Every second felt like a minute, every minute an hour.

She slept roughly in that sad room, wondering where Trels Varis was now, wondering about Almalexia's schemes and wondering, most of all, how Julan was. The ring was silent and cold, and she couldn't fathom what had prevented their contact. She woke the next morning, stiff and alone.

She borrowed a sword from the smithy, and practised wielding it, feeling foolish but determined as she slashed at invisible enemies, copying footwork she had seen Julan perform.

She walked through workshops and laboratories, trying to keep occupied. As it happened, the Craftsmen's Hall was not as empty as she had thought. The storms had struck in the early morning, before most had risen, but some liked to rise early and come to work. Elbert Nermarc, a Breton enchanter whom she vaguely recognised from her past visit with Julan, was one such person, along with a few tailors and alchemists who'd also become trapped. He was perfectly content to talk with her, wanting to know about the storms outside and her business in the Hall. But it was just a distraction, and after a few minutes of restless fidgeting, Llovesi noticed a shelf full of books.

"Are those yours?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh no, those are Milinie's. She's a colleague, something of a Temple devotee," he said, as Llovesi crossed to the books, her hand hovering over titles such as _Vivec and Mephala_ and _Homilies of Blessed Almalexia._

"She didn't make it in. I imagine she's at home, praying. I'm sure she won't mind you borrowing books while you're here. Anything to spread the Temple's word."

As if she wanted to wait with the words of the Temple. Llovesi was about to turn away when she spotted something. A thick bound copy: _The 36 Sermons of Vivec_.

_... Have you ever read my sermons?..._

"Maybe I will," she said, and took the book.

* * *

Approaching footsteps forced her to shut the book. It was mostly incomprehensible to Llovesi anyway. Face-snaked queens, wheels and spokes, uncertain letters and other obscure mystical-sounding twaddle. Six are the walking ways? Julan was right. Why had Vivec wanted her to read this?

"You're hard to find. When I said 'get out of my hair' I didn't mean 'lead me on a wild-scrib chase all over the hall.'"

It was Yagak, holding a carefully wrapped package. Llovesi dropped the book into her pack unconsciously and got to her feet. Elbert Nermarc looked on in interest over his soul gem experiment.

"I've got your sword."

He let the material fall to the ground. Trueflame sat proud in his calloused palms: elegant, silvery and deadly–complete. Llovesi took it, felt its weight experimentally. But something was right. It didn't quite match the image in the book.

"Before you ask," Yagak said, holding up his hands defensively, "I don't know why it doesn't burn. Sorry. I'm a smith, not an enchanter."

"Elbert?" Llovesi asked.

The enchanter abandoned all pretence of carrying on with his work and came to examine the sword with them.

"I could put a normal flame enchantment on it," he said, looking it over carefully, "but that's not what you're after is it? Not from what you've told me. Trueflame... you've got a Dwemer blade. If you want it enchanted, you'd better speak to a Dwemer."

"Hah!" Yagak's laugh was short, brittle and entirely devoid of humour. "How's she gonna do that, wizard? All dead, ain't they."

"Yagrum Bagarn," Llovesi muttered to no one in particular as she examined the blade. But the Last Living Dwarf was miles upon miles away, in northeastern Vvardenfell...

The enchanter didn't seem to have heard her. "Not so fast," he said, and Llovesi looked up at him. "There's a Dwemer Ruin that's just been discovered under the city isn't there? We've heard rumours here that a few of the Ordinators investigated it. They didn't get very far, but apparently it's one of the best-preserved ruins ever uncovered. There're whispers that it might be Bamz-Amschend."

He looked at both their faces eagerly. The name was familiar to Llovesi. Was it something Almalexia had mentioned? Yagak, on the other hand started to look incredibly interested, and he spoke first.

"Isn't that–" he started.

"Yes, yes," Elbert interrupted impatiently. "The place where Trueflame was forged! So maybe, and it's a long shot, but maybe there are still some writings down there from the mystics that enchanted the blade the first time. Not 'talking' exactly, but you might find out how they did it all the same."

Yagak nodded. "Makes sense. Sounds like you know what to do now. Hope you get that blade burning. Best challenge I've had in a while." He looked at it fondly, before smacking his head.

"Almost forgot! Made a scabbard for it too! Don't know what'll happen if you get it burning, but it'll hold it for now."

He unlaced it from his belt and handed it over, a sheath in light steel with straps to keep the blade still, and Llovesi tied the sword to her belt gratefully.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked.

The Orc waved her away impatiently. "Didn't you hear me? Best challenge I've had in a while. That's enough. I did wonder why you wanted such a priceless artefact, but then I had a little chat with Bols, and he told me who you really were." He looked at her gravely a moment. "So I'm satisfied. As long as you treat it right. Now go on, get going!"

Llovesi obeyed, and set off for the plaza. Hopefully she would get the blade to burn with a fire that matched the one inside her. _Not much longer, Julan._


	16. Ruins Within Ruins

**A/N: Hello and welcome once again! Thanks to everyone who came to read the last chapter, and to lluvialpz who faved and OnnaMusha who left me some reviews. I love getting feedback so much, whether it's positive or constructive, so even if you didn't like the chapter I still like to hear from you! Hope everyone enjoys this chapter, I had a lot of fun writing about what Llovesi finds in Bamz-Aschend!**

* * *

_**Chapter 15: Ruins Within Ruins**_

The hall of Bamz-Amschend was just as cavernous as Llovesi remembered it, though fortunately it was silent this time. One of the ancient pillars had crumbled, coming to rest just below the hole that had been gouged in the wall, where Llovesi was currently crouched. The blue-glass ovals set into the stone of the pillar twinkled almost invitingly in the light of her torch. Llovesi responded to the welcome, dropping carefully out of the tunnel, grasping the ledge for the briefest of moments then letting herself fall onto the pillar.

She didn't understand this calm feeling upon entering the ruin, as she scrambled down the pillar, casting the light of her torch around. By all rights she should be a panicked bundle of nerves, stressing about enchanting Trueflame, defeating Almalexia and rescuing Julan. She had _been _a near-constant bundle of nerves since coming to Mournhold, and this was the most serene she had felt.

It wasn't as if she'd ever had a positive experience in the ancient Dwemer strongholds on Vvardenfell either. But still something called to her in this one, as if she could take one more step and walk into the past. It called to that same small part of her that, without magic or explanation, still found Almalexia attractive.

"I'm Llovesi," she whispered, a tiny plea in the echoing, dark hall.

Her feet found hard ground and she stopped to get her bearings. The hall seemed to be in astonishing condition, considering its age. Only two pillars had broken, one being the one she had just climbed down, and Llovesi imagined it was due to the battle a few days prior, not to any degradation over time. No, the Dwemer built things to last. Even braziers still burnt down here; perhaps powered by whatever technology they had created. Llovesi glanced at the scabbard on her hip. The sight of this technology gave her hope.

Bodies still littered the ground. The flesh parts of the fabricants had started to decay, and a thick gagging smell choked the air. Some creatures had been buried under chunks of stone, some Dwemer constructs also crushed to death; their powering soul gems shattered on the ground.

The other broken pillar was blocking one of the exits from the hall, so Llovesi turned right, her hand on Trueflame's hilt as she walked towards the only accessible door. It revealed another hall, smaller than the first, though still incredibly spacious. It was lined with many doors that led onto smaller rooms, with many shelves. _Some sort of storage._ Llovesi passed through the maze of forgotten objects: parts of machinery, rusted weapons and armour, sacks that had rotted away until they were barely a breath of material. But no books.

There were no constructs or centurions to disturb her search at least. She came across a few, broken and littering the riveted metal floor. Here and there they were scratches, metal flooring pulled loose, revealing bare rock. Evidence of a fight. Perhaps they had been destroyed by the investigating Ordinators, or by Almalexia herself. For Llovesi remembered the name of Bamz-Amschend now. Home to the Weather Witch. Maybe she would find a way of stopping the ash storms while she was here.

The next large hall revealed many tables and chairs, all in the same burnished metal, flickering under the light of the braziers. The doors at the sides held beds, the sheets and mattresses long since rotted away. Most disturbing of all, the were small piles of dark ash beneath these beds, small piles sitting in armour, as if the wearer had simply vanished one day.

How far had the Ordinators come? Maybe she _was_ the first person to set eyes on these halls in centuries, Llovesi thought as she gazed at the sad little heaps of ash. _What happened to you?_

Part of this revelation came when, out of seemingly nowhere, a spider centurion launched itself at her. She drew her spear as it skittered round her feet, and plunged the tip into the metal, crushing it and breaking the soul gem that held the creature in animation.

Through the door at the end, down the winding passages she went. _How deep am I now?_ Another large hall. Bamz-Amschend was far larger and more spacious than any ruin Llovesi had every set foot in before. She crossed the threshold of this latest hall and, this time, she was stepping into the past. _I've seen this place before_.

The breathlessness hit her chest as if she'd been submerged into ice water. She remembered it as clear as day. He had led her here, in her sleep. Led her by the hand past the guests, the dead and rotting guests. Dagoth Ur had talked with every one, while maggots writhed in their mouths in response. And she had woken, the same breathlessness pushing her tongue to her mouth and slicking her body with sweat.

It was real. Who's eyes had she seen through in the dream? Had it been a dream at all? But the banqueting hall was so empty it might never have been inhabited. Llovesi hurried past the long dusty table and waiting chairs, hurried deeper into the ruin. She felt stretched, distant, at war with herself. The sooner she finished her business here, the better.

The hall led onto another long winding corridor, with slopes taking her ever further down. Strange machinery stilled _whirred _above: long-blades that moved in a circular fashion, the last ghosts of the Dwemer's presence sending a gentle breeze from above.

She could hear more machinery from a room at the end of the corridor, and she pushed the metal door open with her shoulder.

Well, there were the books. Stacked abundantly on desks, in the shadows of a giant Dwemer construct and clicking machines, being read by, well, what was that she had thought about the Dwemer's last ghosts...?

The man was tall, robed and armoured, with an impressive long beard of dark curls and with pointed ears. He was also vaguely transparent, the metal walls showing slightly through his form. The man–no _mer,_ he was _Dwemer_–turned round as the metal door behind Llovesi slammed shut.

"What?" he barked, and his voice was both far-off and loud. "What are you staring at, you gormless child? You look like you've never seen a Dwarf before!"

Llovesi managed to shut her mouth. "Not for a while," she said.

"Oh, yes." The Dwemer waved an impatient hand, turning back to the book he was studying. "Forgot about that. Dumb fools zapped themselves out of existence, didn't they? Course that was long after I fell in battle... and long before you were even born from the looks of it, little whelp. Feels like only yesterday they all left me here alone. Why are you bothering me anyway? Leave an old spirit to his haunts."

He was now hunched firmly over his book, apparently deeming the one-sided conversation closed.

"Those books," Llovesi said, moving into the room. "Do they say anything about enchanting blades?"

"Damned if I know," the Dwemer replied, scanning the texts and magically flicking the pages rapidly. "Almost completely decipherable, aren't they? Course, that's what you get when barely educated troopers keep diaries. Been working on them for, well, centuries probably, though it's hard to tell. Still can't make hide nor hair of most of it."

"It's just, I need to enchant this blade," Llovesi persevered, pulling Trueflame from its scabbard. "I need to add fire to it, and was told that maybe I would find out how down here, from the mystics that enchanted it years ago."

This caught his attention finally, and he swept across the room to her, staring at Trueflame. His expression was some strange mix of anger and curiosity, his dark eyebrows furrowed and his eyes widening. He ran his long fingers through the transparent curls of his beard.

"Ha! You're looking for a mystic? Got none of those left. I was just a soldier, kid, plain and simple. Radac Stungnthumz was the name, still is, if there're any left to call me by it. But you say you want to add fire to that blade?"

"Yes. Can you help with that?"

Radac took the blade from her with the same telekinetic magic he had used to turn the pages of his book.

"Sure, sure," he said distractedly, spinning the blade in the air between his ghostly hands. "Made weapons for my troops all the time, didn't I? If fire is all you want I can take care of that for you myself! You don't need a mystic, whelp. Can make a real nice 'fiery blade' for you, I remember when they were all the rage. I swear, no one is happy with a simple blade that cleaves bone... always need the special effects."

He seemed in danger of being even more distracted. Llovesi waited patiently, then decided to prompt him.

"So, will you do it?" she asked.

"What? Yes, yes, don't nag me at me whelp. I've been here more years than steps you've taken in this old place. Just remember that. I'll do it, but I'll need some Pyroil Tar–"

"Some what?"

"Let me finish! Pyroil Tar, Pyroil Tar... never heard of it? Course, it's probably one of those old techniques that've vanished over the years... centuries. Anyway used to have some here in my forge... but I guess that was a long time ago. Probably all gone now, all been looted away. My guess is by those dratted Daedra–"

"What Daedra?" Llovesi asked.

"Always with the interruptions! Always with the questions! If you were my trooper I'd have you whipped! Those dratted Daedra in the lower caves of Norenen-dur, in the Citadel of Myn Dhrur. It's an old ruin far beneath Bamz-Amschend. Deep, deep caves. An old Daedric ruin. Fool Dunmer... worshipping those beasts. More fool us, for building our barracks right on top of it. Ruins within ruins, kid. Anyway, listen close, and no interrupting.

"Go back the way you came, take a left then take the second left. You'll go through some rubble into what we used to call 'The Passage of the Walker'. Access to Norenen-dur is there, though I reckon it's one of the passages that got caved in when that bloody Daedra invaded the city. You Chimer? No? Falmer. Eh, some sort of mer. You got magicka anyway–blow up the cave-ins or something. Pyroil Tar'll be in a little metal jar, smells like coal. Take care down there, youngster. No telling what you may run into. You might discover a new way to die. That'd be something, at least. You should be able to find some tar, though. Bring that back to me."

He placed the blade back into her hands and Llovesi took it, careful to avoid the sharp edge.

"Fine-looking blade by the way," the Dwemer said, in a slightly begrudging tone. "That's the old craftsmanship, right there. You treat it right. Don't lose it or anything."

Llovesi bit back her sarcastic response, reminding herself that the cranky soldier had decided to help her.

"I'll be back before you know it," she said instead, sheathing the blade and walking back the way she came.

"I doubt that," Radac muttered, watching her go. "I didn't get to where I am now by letting whelps surprise _me_!"

* * *

Radac's instructions were clear, precise and, above all, easy to follow. Down here in the deep halls the only sounds were Llovesi's light footsteps on the riveted floor, the way her breath hitched in her throat, and occasionally an echo of a creak from above. The ruins were standing up to the test of time remarkably well, which was why 'The Passage of the Walker' came as such a surprise when she broke through the rockfall.

It still bore the scars of its history. Long gouges in the walls and floor–Llovesi shivered, thinking of the vicious claws of Daedroths and the cruel weapons wielded by Dremora. The yellowed metal of the floor had been ripped up in even more patches, and there were more fallen rocks, fixed in place by time. No braziers burnt here, and Llovesi took a new torch from her pack and lit it with a spark from her fingers.

She took in all this damage in the flickering light, then made for one of the rock piles, one she hoped was blocking the tunnel to Norenen-Dur. Crouching by it, Llovesi listened intently. Then she rose to her feet, frowning, and moved to the next pile of rubble. Here she smiled grimly, hearing what she was searching for. The distant whistle of wind chasing through tunnels beyond.

She cleared the passageway the same way she had the first, releasing a powerful burst of heat and power that knocked her back, but cleared a gap in the rubble. The cumulative effect of both explosions was now clear on her skin in numerous tight, darkish burns. There was little that could be done about those now–Llovesi decided not to waste her few healing potions on burns that, given her race, were not too much of an inconvenience. She could drink another potion to restore her magicka though, not knowing what she would face below. Then, she stepped forward cautiously, sending the light of her torch dancing off the walls of the newly cleared passage.

It dropped away steeply from what she could see, old carved rock heading ever downwards into the gloom. Cool air was coming from somewhere down there, it ruffled through her braids as she swallowed hard and started to descend. Llovesi didn't know how long it took to carefully walk down the passageway, always conscious of tripping, conscious of the wounds she'd already sustained: scrapes and burns and bruises from the battle the day before.

After what felt like hours, though she sincerely hoped it wasn't, the passage levelled out and became waterlogged. Llovesi splashed into the ankle-deep flood and followed it further onwards, the orange light of her torch flickering on the old walls. Then the passageway ended suddenly, blocked by a distinctive dark red stone. Llovesi guessed it hadn't been the true entrance to the Daedric citadel anyway, only a cleared passageway that had been created after the ruin sunk beneath the earth. The wall had a large gap clawed between two hunks of stone, probably large enough to allow two figures to slip through at a time.

Beyond the wall, the architecture was low and constrictive: short corridors with narrow spiked walls and ceilings that nearly brushed the top of Llovesi's head. She moved cautiously through the cramped and claustrophobic halls, thanking Azura when she finally stumbled upon a door. When she opened it, she could only gape.

She'd entered an impossibly large cavern, the ceiling obscured in shadow. There were great, flat stone steps set against the walls, and winding round pillars, reaching into the heights of the cavern. The only thing Llovesi could think to compare it to was the Urshilaku Burial Caverns that she had visited last year, though those had felt peaceful and calm. This stairwell was foreboding in its very nature, dizzying architecture and angry red angles. Still, what choice did she have? Llovesi drew her glass spear, and began to climb to the top, taking the large steps two at a time. Where were all the Daedra? Because even though the ruin no longer held worshippers, she expected the creatures bound to the place to still roam its halls, much like the forgotten Dwemer centurions above.

She had to pause half way up, clutching at a stitch in her side. From this point she could see neither the top, nor the bottom from whence she came. She shuddered, and moved onwards.

Finally, she came across a great stone door with a ring set in its centre. She still couldn't see the top of the stone cavern, but the twisting steps ended here. Like the doors in Ald Daedroth, this door was shaped like a seashell, and had probably once born intricate designs before time had mostly beaten them away. She took hold of the ring, and pushed. She could read the carved Daedric lettering around the handle; it had not yet succumbed to the years. _Myn Dhrur._

Llovesi blinked in the sudden light of many braziers, and cast her torch aside. She was standing on a flight of steps, over-looking a sunken hall. Daedric buildings and halls had been built into the great cavern, but even their impressive towering shapes were dwarfed by the sheer vastness of the place. Below her, water extended in all direction, buildings like little crimson islands peeked above the flood. On the opposite side of the cave, a raised dais mirrored the steps she stood on. And there…

Llovesi moved forward carefully, squinting in the shifting light. There on the dais, was a pile of objects, some glittering in the light. Balanced on the pile was a throne and lounging in the throne, was a Dremora.

He stood as Llovesi descended the steps, and raised his arms wide in front of his throne.

"A mortal intruder! I am Khash-Ti Dhrur, and this is my citadel!"

His voice was like metal that had learnt to speak, like the blood of a thousand slain foes screaming. It raised Llovesi's skin into cold bumps, but she kept walking, splashing through the water until she stood at the foot of his dais. While she approached she kept her eye on the nearby sinking buildings, but no other Daedra reared their heads.

She stood before him finally. She had never come so close to a Dremora that wasn't yet attacking her. His skin was bright red and somehow hard looking, swirled with intricate black tattoos. Two curling horns burst from his brow, nestling in his thick dark hair. His eyes were a deep, glittering black, and he licked his lips with a long black tongue as she approached, crossing his arms over his armoured chest. The Daedric plate armour covered his entire broad body, save his face, and a large warhammer hung at his hip.

"No mortal had breached these halls in centuries!" His voice splintered its way through the air. "What is your purpose? Assuage my curiosity quickly, and I shall reward you with a faster death! You have breached the citadel of a Kynmarcher, and must suffer my consequences!"

"I'm looking for some Pyroil Tar," Llovesi said defiantly, raising herself to her full height and staring into the Dremora's sneering face. She could now see the treasure that cradled his throne. Pieces of armour, and bright jewels. Rusted weapons, and hunks of metal. Books, mechanisms, and other plunder, ripped and looted from the halls above and brought stone here to pad this creature's ego. And there, a little metal jar.

"So, your purpose is a thief's purpose! When I have killed you, I shall feast on your flesh, mortal! When you are dead I shall send your soul to my Lord in the Deadlands! To arms my brethren!"

He sent Llovesi back with a sudden blow with his hammer, winding her as she fell to the ground. She could hear the sound of many footsteps approaching as she forced herself from the ground. All manner of Daedra were coming, from the distant reaches of the flooded hall, for them–for her. Golden Saints and Dremora and Daedroths and Ogrims and Clannfear and Scamps and some dark-skinned Daedra of a female aspect that Llovesi didn't recognise. All the servants of the Four Corners. She knew instantly that she didn't have a hope in surviving them, and also that accepting this thought would mean her end. And she had too much to live for.

She pushed hard against the ground and flipped back onto her feet. Then she launched herself at Khash-Ti Dhrur. The Dremora seemed taken by surprise at her sudden and direct attack, and they fell over together into his pile of looted treasure. His hot breath tickled her ear as she rose first and punched him hard in the gut, ignoring the pain as her first connected with metal of his armour. She hit him again in the face, when he seized her wrist and held it so hard the bone protested.

"Foolish, mortal!" he hissed, seizing her neck with his other hand as the army of Daedra began to ascend the steps of the dais behind them. "You fight in vain! If you surrender now I will kill you personally, instead of throwing you to the hoard!"

Llovesi allowed herself to be lifted into the air, then kicked Khash-Ti Druhr hard in the face. He dropped her and fell back again. Blood burning in her veins, Llovesi dove at the pile of treasure and seized the small metal jar. It felt strangely warm in her hand, and she didn't need to bring it to her nose to know it was what she was looking for.

The first Daedric soldiers had breached the dais, and Llovesi ran at them. She grabbed her spear from where it hard fallen but, instead of a futile attack, she drove the butt into the ground and vaulted over their heads, landing at the foot of the steps with a splash. Behind her Khash-Ti Dhrur was clutching at his throat.

"Get her, you pitiful fools!" he croaked. "She has stolen from us!"

Llovesi ran through the water, sending great waves of spray into the air. The Daedra were on her heels, and she screamed as claws raked her back, opening her armour and the skin beneath as quickly and easily as unlacing a shirt. But she kept going, putting on a lung-tearing burst of speed and pulling herself up the steps she had come down, throwing herself back through the door to the staircase. She slammed it shut with her back, panting and streaked with blood and sweat. But she couldn't stop. She could hear explosions as Dremora and Daedroths cast fire and ice behind her, and she could hear the shrieks and wails of the Scamps and Clannfear.

The door shook behind her, so Llovesi ran, and she jumped.

Her entire body slammed into one of the stone pillars, and it took her remaining bit of strength not to let go and fall. Instead she clung to it, sliding down as the creatures of Oblivion shouted and screamed above her. Then it was back through into the very first passageway, darting this way and that, trying vainly to remember which way she'd come. All the passages looked the same, all menacing and low and blood red. Her sight failing, she could no longer ignore the agonising pain in her back, nor the aching of her limbs. Her breath became even shallower as she limped along, the Daedra behind her spurring her long. The cries echoed strangely in these corridors; it sounded as if they were coming from all sides. She grasped her hands tighter, her fists clenching on her spear and the small metal jar as she ran.

Then, through luck or some divine intervention, she saw the hole she had come through. But even if she escaped they would follow her. Llovesi screwed up her eyes, and summoned one last spell. Then, as she dove through the gap, she released a fiery maelstrom behind her, her most powerful explosion of the whole misadventure. The rumble resonated through the ruin and she rolled, picked herself up, and kept running. Rock began to fall, splashing behind her, blocking the way she had come. Every breath tore a hole in her chest now, and the passage way was growing dark even as she climbed upwards. The little jar was still warm in her hand. _If I die here, it will all have been for nothing. No one else can stop Almalexia. No one else can save Julan..._

_... Llovesi. Keep going..._

* * *

"Looks like you nearly did discover a new way to die, eh, whelp?"

A thousand Daedra pounded on the inside of her skull. Llovesi groaned and tried to sit up, and immediately wished she hadn't. Her back was stiff and sore–a great jolt of pain ran from her neck to the base of her spine. She screamed, and sunk backwards.

"Easy now. I may have saved your life, but the pain won't go away for a while. Magicka tends to be less effective when you're dead."

The room swam into focus.

"Radac?" Llovesi asked.

The face of the ghostly Dwemer moved backwards from hers.

"Right enough," he said. "I got tired of waiting, so I came down to the passage to look for you. Lucky I did. Looks like the Daedra had some fun with you. Still, sounds like you've cut them off down there, and you brought me the Pyroil Tar."

He moved his hands into her field of view, and between them, spinning softly in its own light, was a flaming blade.

"Trueflame," Llovesi whispered, and suddenly she didn't feel sore at all. She leapt to her feet, and grasped the blade by the hilt, wielding it with a flourish.

Radac looked as amused as his cantankerous face would allow.

"There's your shiny blade. Hope it was worth the aggravation. Now, I'd better just tell you how to work it, because the way you're waving it around suggests you're going to get yourself hurt."

Llovesi lowered the blade immediately. "Go on," she said.

Radac took the blade back, and held it upright. "Look at this depression in the centre of the blade," he said. "The oil sits here and, with the enchantment I've applied, flows down into the hilt where the enchanted flame mechanism is found. The blade will burn any way you wield it, unless,"–and he turned the blade so that the tip was facing the metal floor–"you turn it upside down. Then the oil flows out of the mechanism, and you can sheath it safely. Clever design, even if I do say so myself."

Between them, Trueflame's fire faltered, then winked out. Llovesi took it, and held it upright again, watching in wonder as the enchantment sprang to life. Then she held it upside down as Radac had shown her, then sheathed it.

"Thank you," she said.

Radac waved a hand. "Go on now. I'd ask you what your intentions were, but then I don't much care. Goodbye."

The reminder of why she'd reforged Trueflame in the first place stirred Llovesi's memory.

"Radac, has Almalexia been down here?" she asked.

The spirit stared at her as if she'd lost all her wits. "Now why on Nirn would your Dunmeri Goddess come down here?" he asked incredulously. "I think those Daedra addled your brain!"

"She's set up the Kar–uh... the Weather Witch. Set it so there are ashstorms in Mournhold."

"Well, that's a damn strange thing to do. Why do you fool Dunmer worship her anyway? She was always a bit highly strung, if I remember my youth correctly. Come to think of it though, yours were not the first footsteps I've heard down here recently." He fixed her with another glare. "You all suddenly remember this place exists, or what?"

"Is there a way to reach the Weather Witch? To shut it off?"

Radac waved his hand irritably. "What am I, a tour guide all of a sudden? I fixed your pretty sword, didn't I? And now you have even more questions! Look, the path to Skybreak Gallery is blocked. Seen it myself, when I came down here to find you. Only this rock fall looks recent, and I'm guessing it's more than you can blast your way through. So, here are some instructions: forget about it."

"But–"

"Are you deaf? Take your sword and leave me now! If you want to talk about the Karstangz-Bcharn you talk to your Goddess, not me. Here are some more instructions: turn around. Place left foot forward. Place right foot forward. Now repeat these steps until you're out of my damn sight!"

Llovesi gave up and left. Even if she couldn't halt the ashstorms here, she had Trueflame, and that achievement kindled hope in her heart. Radac Stungnthumz watched her go, and he couldn't prevent a begrudging smile from appearing on his face.

* * *

It was night in the world above, and Llovesi forced her way back through the ashstorms to the Craftsmen's Hall. Some part of her was even happy to see them. For a moment below, she'd thought she would never again see the surface. Now, Trueflame sat comfortably on her hip. She would get Bols to repair her armour, stock up on potions, see if one of the alchemists could check her injuries and, in the morning, she would go to the Temple.

Almalexia would see her, whether she desired it or not. It was time to finish this.


	17. Confrontation

**A/N: Hello everyone! Hope September is treating you well! Thanks to krikanalo and OnnaMusha for reviewing the last chapter, and I hope everyone will enjoy reading today's. It's a bit of a bridging chapter, one that was a little hard coming, but hopefully it works in the end.**

**Warning for depictions of violence.**

* * *

_**Chapter 16: Confrontation**_

This was it. But Llovesi was raising her hand to the great stone handle of the Temple door, when she hesitated and her hand froze in mid air.

Was she ready to do this? Try as she might to tell herself this had to be done, that Almalexia had to be stopped and she was going to get Julan back, Llovesi just wasn't sure. And feelings from three months ago flooded her mind. Ghostgate, Dagoth Ur, the volcano...

She had lied to everyone that she was ready then, and she had survived despite the odds. But this was different. For all the similarities between Dagoth Ur and the Tribunal, Llovesi was about to turn on something the people of Morrowind still held dear. She was taking a quarrel to the heart of their city.

It didn't matter what Almalexia was truly like, what she had done, Llovesi thought as she turned back to see the crowd of Dunmer still keeping their vigil at the Temple steps. In many ways, she wished she were on the threshold of the Palace, ready to have the last confrontation with Heselth. That would be acceptable. In truth, she wasn't worried about her own death this time. She was worried about what would come after.

And she had only just healed from the last struggle. While Bols repaired her cuirass, one of the alchemists at the Craftsmen's Hall had applied a thick healing salve to Llovesi's back, closing the Daedra claw wounds into long, jagged scars. She'd had to take potions to restore her tiredness and alleviate her aches, for there had been no time for rest in the end. All the while, she'd lain on her front, her shirt open at the back, watching the inhabitants of the Craftsmen's Hall.

For that was what they were now: inhabitants. Close to four days they'd spent in the Hall, and it was becoming more and more like a refugee camp. When she'd returned from Bamz-Aschend, she found that everyone had grouped into the smithy, for the constant source of heat and light. There they had set up cooking pots over the hot coals, and blankets on the stone floor, and they gasped over Trueflame when she brought it back. If Bols and Yagak were annoyed by the intrusion they didn't show it, and Llovesi suspected they weren't. They were far gruffer on the outside than the inside, and it had got to the point where all anyone truly wanted was some company. So they hunched together, sharing provisions and stories, looking very much like victims in the aftermath of a disaster. When she had left she told them she was going to stop the ash storms. It wasn't strictly a lie.

Now Llovesi stood, a bundle of nerves held together by alchemy, on the threshold of the Temple, her hand aching to reach out and grasp the door and also wanting to slip back to her side. Why was she here? What did she want, truly? And what would she do when she opened this door?

She looked at Trueflame, banging against her hip in the force of the storm. Just a few days ago she had sworn she would forge the sword and use it to kill Almalexia. Salas Valor had insisted it was necessary. Then Julan had been abducted and she had been consumed with such a rage that when she stole any sleep all she saw was Almalexia's head rolling onto the flagstones. Even yesterday she had been ready to go through with it. Why was she having doubts now?

Julan was in there somewhere. Her ring had not burnt on her finger since the Daedra halls, but she knew if he were dead she would feel it. She hoped she would. Her hand inched closer.

Well, who said she had to fight Almalexia at all? Maybe she could be convinced to stop the ash storms, to work with her people instead of against them. Nerevar would have known what to say, Llovesi realised. Perhaps that was what all of this was about anyway. Nerevar and Almalexia. Two relics of the First Era, reunited.

_This is stupid. I have to go in there and get Julan, and stop her. I have to._

Her hand closed on the door handle and she pushed.

The antechamber was empty.

The absence of life was a shock. Llovesi felt it more keenly because she was sure her mind was just full of people. _Julan. Almalexia. Nerevar. Llovesi. Helseth. Barenziah. Helseth and Almalexia. Julan, Almalexia and Llovesi. Nerevar, Almalexia and Llovesi. Nerevar and Llovesi._

She crept across the darkened and silent room, wishing she could scream as loudly as her heart was beating.

_Is this a trap? Is it wrong to presume this is all about her and me? Anything she does affects the whole of Mournhold too. But no, she's proved herself to be petty, cruel, prideful... and oh so desperate._

She'd reached the door to the High Chapel. She took a deep, shuddering breath, then attempted a stoic expression. Her hand on Trueflame's hilt, she turned the latch. It was unlocked.

Inside, the scene was just as it had ever been: Almalexia's soft golden skin radiating out into the heights of the Temple and surrounded by five Hands this time. The sight gave Llovesi a strange measure of a comfort and familiarity, despite what had passed here. Llovesi knew they were both beyond that now. The game between them was nearing its end.

"Almalexia," she said, and her voiced bounced off the curved walls. She was relieved to hear how steady she sounded. And in that instant she made her decision.

Almalexia's head snapped up and she opened her eyes.

"So," she said softly, barely a hint of emotion. "You have returned. I believe I knew you would. What words do we have left to exchange?"

"None," Llovesi said, and drew Trueflame. "Not now. You have taken my husband. I've come to get him back, and end your blight on this city."

She raised Trueflame so that the flames flicked to life, and ran towards Almalexia.

Closer, and closer, Trueflame blazing through the air, towards Almalexia and her plinth, but the Goddess didn't move at all. Then the Hands moved as one, five guards surrounded their Goddess, five scimitars rose in unison, all of them pointing at Llovesi.

Llovesi skidded to a halt, and lowered Trueflame slightly, but the flames still licked around the steel, casting harsh dancing shadows at her feet.

"Why don't you put your dogs down and face me yourself?" Llovesi said with a voice full of barely restrained menace.

"Brave words from a coward," Almalexia said sweetly. "Didn't you run the last time we spoke here? But now I have your lover, and now you come running. Not a mention of my people this time, though the ash storms still rage. No, this time it's personal. But it was personal ever since you set foot in my city."

She laced her fingers together, and looked serenely at Llovesi from in between the raised scimitars.

"I was denied my lover," she continued, "and you shall be denied yours. Even if you kill me, you will never find him here. I was denied my power, and so I shall take it back."

Llovesi's only reply was an inarticulate scream of rage. Before she knew what she was doing she pulled every last drop of magicka to the fore and _pushed_ with heat and flame. The five Hands were thrown back to the curved walls of the High Chapel with a thud that should have brought everyone running. But still the Temple was silent.

Almalexia still stood before her, looking exactly the same. The spell hadn't even ruffled her hair.

Llovesi raised Trueflame high, but Almalexia's hand shot out and caught her wrist. Her grip was incredibly strong; Llovesi fought not to drop Trueflame as Almalexia twisted her wrist and brought them closer together.

"You have even anticipated my need by reforging Trueflame," she continued in her low, sweet voice. "It is the only reason I allowed you to walk away with the piece of the blade. I told you, you would be a good and faithful servant. Everything you have done, to bring us closer together, my Nerevar..."

"Let me go!" Llovesi said through gritted teeth.

"I think not. In fact, I think you should discover a place where you will be able to use that sword. You would condemn me? Then meet the one who first divined the use of the tools! There we shall have our last."

A trap. A caged rat. But as Llovesi dully realised that Almalexia had wanted this all along, she had taken Julan to draw Llovesi to her one last time, that the grip on her wrist had not lessened–as she realised all of this in an instant, bright light was glowing from where golden skin met sun kissed green-grey, and she was falling, falling, falling.

Falling through darkness and stars. She felt the same pull in her body that came with teleportation magic, but this was pulling her further than she had ever been before. She squeezed her limbs to her body, bracing herself for impact. When she landed, it was with a splash.

* * *

_I watch. I wonder. I build. I tear down._

He was working, as always, in solitude and silence. His hands stretched over the circle of his many arching consoles, tapping, divining, experimenting, creating. Tinkering. The Mage, the Clockmaker, in the hub of his workshop. Magicka flowed through the great cables above, and the whole room _hummed_ and clicked with every stroke of his golden fingers over the machinery. Pistons, cogs and steam-powered mechanisms were here. His mind was elsewhere, as always.

Solitude. His burden and his blessing. His technology was occupation enough, a guiding light on the shadowy path of curiosity. And it had led him to many curious things indeed, mechanics and prosthetics and magicka drawn from the body into circuits of possibility. It had led him to clockwork. But he was, above all, an observer. And solitude was his to bear alone, the solitary figure, the solitary citizen. Long since he had spoken with the other Tribunes, long since he had moved things among the mortals. No, this was his way now, and the disconnect was almost complete.

Or was it? He felt the arrival again. Someone had been walking his halls as of late. It bothered him not, for they bothered him not. His halls were not closed to those who knew to find them, though he suspected his experiments kept that select group away. But the presence was closer this time; in fact he could hear soft footsteps...

"Sotha Sil," Almalexia whispered.

He looked up from his consoles, metal limbs clicking and compressing as he lowered his arms and stood upright. He considered her from behind a helm of Dwemer metal. So she had come here. But, was that a surprise? He stayed, she came, and that was a balance of sorts.

He opened his mouth, then found he had nothing to say.

He looked back to his consoles. He had many a thing to do. Already his mind was jumping away, distracted, heading back through the corridors to his creatures and creations. He forgot Almalexia.

But she did not leave. She stood in front of him, just in his field of vision, her right fist clenched and her left holding her blueflame Dwemer-blade, Hopsefire. It had been many an age since he'd seen it wielded.

"This is where you cower, Tinkerer."

He waited, his hands pausing over switches and levers. She would say her piece, and then she would leave. That was communication. He noticed not the tone of her words. Almalexia had always been hard as tempered steel, even in joy. And then there was Vivec the riddler, clothing himself in obscurity... It had been so long since he'd thought of the others.

"You keep yourself away here. Hiding from the world. Withdrawn, working by yourself. What luxury."

She had drawn closer; she was right in front of him now.

"So. Many. Years. I doubt you even know what day it is. What month. Let alone the faring of your people in outer Sotha Sil. You do not know much I..."–and she took a deep shuddering breath, her voice wobbling over the words as sure as Hopesfire wavered in the air–"... resent this. You two. The Tinkerer and the Poet, free to follow their whims while the Mother of Mercy walks in their wake, picking up the pieces. The Mother of Mercy, walking among her people. Learning them. Serving them. I thought that we chose this path as equals, but it seems even Gods are not created equal!"

She was shouting on the final words. Sotha Sil stood impassive, his fingers still hovering over the consoles. He waited for her to leave.

"You have become self-absorbed, gods only in the service of yourself! I alone watch over my people, but I cannot any longer. You didn't even feel _it_, did you? You've turned yourself into half a man, with those metal legs, metal arms, metal heart!"

She spat the words, her eyes roving venomously over his body as she did. Hopesfire started to tremble in her hands.

"The silent mage, and the silent thief. I, the warrior, had to fight for us all. Too heavy a burden! Too heavy for one to bear! You chose to throw it away! I couldn't. And when I could no longer perform my duty I found I had no choice again!"

She was sobbing wilfully now, waving Hopesfire around in grand gestures as she spoke. His eyes followed the flames from behind his helm with vague disinterest. But then she looked up, at him, her own eyes burning gold through her tears.

"You ignore me even now? Why don't you speak! Answer me!"

He said nothing. She began to pace.

"I hate you. This is what I now realise. I hate you, my brother. I hate what we did. You know my Nerevar returned to me? He did, but you never did care for the prophecies. But, oh the Daedra must be mocking me, for he has returned as a woman, with her own lover. Was it folly what we did? I think it was a greater folly for me, for I alone carry the Tribunal now. I alone am the one true god!"

He could see every tear on her face... then the blade came up, swinging wildly past the ring of consoles, and plunged through his metal cuirass. Oh. It burned. He had forgotten pain. It hurt quite a lot. His mind came rushing back.

"Speak!" she screamed.

He did not. He found that, when it came down to it, he had no words. _Those who fail to comprehend my silence will fail to comprehend my words. _He chose it. She did not.

She pulled the sword back, trailing his innards with it.

"So, there is something of a mer left in you," she said. "Let us return you to your mortality! Perhaps then you will lower yourself to speak with me!"

A strange word, mortality. A forgotten word. So long ago he had replaced himself with his own constructions, so not to feel. Now he felt keenly as she ripped and hacked his artificial limbs from him, trailing wire and metal across the floor.

"Why do you defy me!" She was still screaming as she smashed through his consoles and tore him apart with her bare hands. "Talk to me!"

The lights were flickering and failing around them. Sotha Sil imagined the damage it could be causing. Flooded halls, traps becoming active, mechanisms failing. But he could only imagine. He could no longer see.

She'd torn great cables down from above and she was pulling him up, stringing one broken arm, then the other, wrapping a thick rope of metal magicka around his neck...

Oh, silence. To leave this cumbersome life. Maybe it was what he needed. To sleep, finally.

Then came the sword again, searing as it sliced. She rent his helm, half of the great metal mask flying away and the other half welding itself to his face. Skin that hadn't seen light in years peeked out. She punched him in the mouth, cracking teeth that hadn't been used in centuries.

Still there was silence.

His mind was fully in this room now, staring at the lights on his consoles, feeling the metal round his arms, hearing the cogs whirring and Almalexia grunting, hearing rather than feeling the sound of the sword. All was metal sparks flying, metal room spinning, metal walls darkening...

She was panting now, sobbing quietly. One word, over and over again: "Speak."

Sotha Sil died with his mouth hanging open, and there were no words.

Almalexia stood back and saw her work.

There was silence.

* * *

**A/N: Some things to say. **

**Firstly, the beginning of Sotha Sil's section (I watch. I wonder. I build. I tear down.) comes from the wonderful 'Sotha Sil's Last Words...' on the Imperial Library, which also hugely influenced his description. I just wanted to show him as maybe he was - to my mind he's one of the most interesting Tribunes, yet... well, you know what happens in game. I tried to strike a slightly different tone/style in writing his perspective, hopefully that came across.**

**Secondly, and I'm sorry to say this, there won't be any updates for a while. This is my fault - I've caught myself up with the pre-written material, and I've been battling real-life priorities/writer's block to get the chapters finished. I can't say when chapter 17 will be done (though it's about half way there so although I'll shoot for next week sometime.) I'll try to go for weekly updates. The good news is, there are only a few more chapters to go - this story will be finished! If you're reading my other ongoing story, _Cardruhn_, an update is coming for that very soon.**


	18. Like Clockwork

**A/N: Well, here it is! Again, I'm sorry for the mahoosive wait between chapters - this one was a long time coming, because I had to think long and hard about my conception of the Clockwork City, what I wanted to change, what would stay the same... It was a fun chapter to write but it was also a hard chapter to write; I'm not used to Llovesi being alone. I also got hit with a massive bout of writer's block, as such I'm kind of fed up of looking at it now. It's one of my longest, it came easy in some places, but in other places it was like getting water from a stone. May not be my best, but do tell me what you think regardless.**

**Thanks to OnnaMusha for reviewing the last chapter, and that's enough from me.**

* * *

_**Chapter 17: Like Clockwork**_

The young mer that went by Julan, husband of Llovesi, was crouched in his cell with his hand against the lock, shooting blast after blast of magicka into the mechanism.

"That will not work."

Julan looked up, and beheld Her in Her Glory. Her battle mask was on: Her green horns and tusks framing a face that was crafted to instil fear in anyone who dared defy Her. But the young mer only continued to look defiant. She wondered briefly at the stupidity of those in love. Perhaps that was another of Her mistakes.

His hands left the lock and, seemingly unconsciously, he started to rub at a dull metal ring on his finger.

"And neither will that."

Julan stood then, a little clumsily, and wrapped his hands around the bars. He had his own battle mask this one, a great lattice-work of cuts surrounding bruised cheekbones and eyes that were nearly swollen shut. Her Hands had done their work well, Almalexia thought approvingly.

"What do you mean?" he asked thickly, before spitting a mouthful of blood to the floor.

"I know. I have always known. And I will always know. Know about those rings that tie your thoughts together. Every little decision you make and have made, from dealing with the puppet king, to spying for his mother, to helping then double-crossing me–"

"We never double crossed you," Julan whispered. "We were against you from the start."

Almalexia laughed, though it felt slightly more forced and brittle than usual.

"Don't you see? _She_ wasn't. Your _precious_ Llovesi wanted to help me, before you turned her mind. But it matters not, not now. I have sent her far from here. Maybe she thinks she will find Sotha Sil. But all she will find is death."

He roared, and slammed a fist ineffectually against the bars.

Almalexia raised Her own hands to the bars, showing the deep, red gloves She had so recently earned. She wore them up to Her elbows, a symbol of Her triumph.

"I had thought ridding her of your influence might have opened her eyes. But still she persists in her madness," She whispered back. "I feel she will have to meet the same end as poor Sotha Sil. When I have bathed my hands in her blood also, and sealed her tomb, my Ordinators will release you so that you might behold my glorious return and know that you have failed. The world will talk of the poor Nerevarine, who finally lost her mind at the death of her mother in law, who was twisted into committing atrocities by the poisonous words of the puppet king and her Ashlander husband. I will speak of how her death was a mercy to her, how even with her last breath she begged my forgiveness. Poor Nerevarine. The soul of another was too much to bear, in the end. And when I have done this and you have borne witness, I will be free to be the one true God!"

Julan fell to the ground slowly, his hands still weakly grasping the bars. Almalexia stepped back.

"Maybe I shall release you to crawl back to your tribe, like the insect you are. Or perhaps I shall keep you as a trophy. Who knows? I know everything, except what shall come to pass in the Clockwork City."

She fought to keep her face calm, but perhaps a brief tremor passed over her forehead. She shouldn't have mentioned it, but it was true: her far-sight refused to reveal what would arrive in the Clockwork City. It was as if a dark veil had been hung over the events; one she could not brush aside with a flick of her mind. She forced her features back into a smile.

"But I feel I will emerge victorious. It's time I went to my destiny."

She walked away, leaving Julan to withdraw finally from the bars, and clasp his hands beneath his battered chin.

_Azura, please protect her. Please, please, please... just let her be okay._

* * *

Drip.

Drip. Drip.

She was lying in water, her clothes billowing out slightly from under her cuirass and greaves. Her hair fanned out around her, each braid spreading like an uncurling, searching fern, finding only algae and more water.

Drip.

The small droplet landed on her closed eyelids.

Drip.

Finally, her eyelids shook, her nose wrinkled, then Llovesi was sitting up and gasping, sending a great wave out around her.

She stood as quickly as her creaking limbs would allow, grasping weakly against the metal wall of the flooded room. Her hands tangled in slick, green vines and ferns: plant life that burst determinedly through the faintest cracks. Wherever this place was, it had been long abandoned. The wall directly behind her seemed to confirm this–what had perhaps once been a door had now collapsed under a rock fall.

Llovesi shivered, her eyes wide, in her sodden apparel with her hair plastered to her face and she tried desperately to think.

_Falling_.

_I think you should discover a place where you will be able to use that sword..._

Moving carefully away from the wall, Llovesi drew Trueflame now. The blade served another purpose, a warm light in this unfamiliar place. It revealed metal walls, the same metal the Dwemer had used in construction and smithing. Water stood up to her shins, surprisingly clear. There were several large cog-like shapes on the wall, though they were not the source of the sounds Llovesi could hear: a rush of running water and a soft clicking, like the steam-powered pistons in Dwemer ruins. Llovesi strained her eyes in the gloom, and saw a mechanism on the far wall. Part of the metal wall seemed to have been stripped away, exposing a cluster of smaller, rotating cogs. From here she could not see the mechanism's purpose, only the slowly revolving cogs. They never missed a beat, she thought. Even in this abandoned and possibly ancient room, they continued to turn like clockwork.

_Like clockwork..._

The Clockwork City?

_Meet the one who first divined the use of the tools..._

It had to be. The inner city of Sotha Sil. The domain of the one who, if she were to believe Almalexia and Helseth, had attacked Mournhold. Why send her here?

_She wants me to deal with him_._ But_, Llovesi thought, _Almalexia has to be lying about Sotha Sil's involvement in the attack on Mournhold_. What if Sotha Sil was unlike Almalexia; what if he had been unaffected by the loss of his godhood? Vivec had suggested as much, once. Almalexia was expecting them to fight but what if, and at this thought her heart pounded furiously, he might help? She had to find him. And if Alamlexia intended to hold true to her threat of finding Llovesi here, Llovesi had to find him first.

_There we shall have our last_.

But, it didn't look much like a city. Llovesi held Trueflame aloft like a torch again and splashed through the water towards the mechanism, looking back at the collapsed door. Maybe she was in the inner city, the part that belonged exclusively to Sotha Sil.

But why did it look both long abandoned and recently damaged? For the plant life couldn't have grown overnight but, as Llovesi examined the cogs more closely, she noticed that the exposed panel looked to have been forcibly removed from the wall. Whether deliberately or through malfunction she couldn't tell–all she could see was it lying in the water by her feet. And the water was steadily rising. Not at a rate to make her panic yet, but she knew she had to move on.

She followed the cogs downwards with a raised finger, and a switch caught her eye. It was a rusted thing, like the forgotten handle of a spade, buried into the wall. She grasped the bar and when she found she couldn't pull it, she pushed. Almost instantly the cogs in the wall started to turn in the other direction. Slowly, the giant cog on the wall started to grind upwards, driven into the ceiling with a metallic clang. It was a door. They were all doors. _Right_.

The water was now sloshing around her shins as she sheathed Trueflame and darted through the new tunnel, emerging into another large room, this time lit by soft blue lights. Here she could see more of the cog-shaped doors, and also steady streams of water gushing into the room through the weakening metal walls. Burst pipes perhaps. She was almost certain it wasn't an architectural feature.

As if confirming her suspicion, one of the cog-like doors on the far side buckled suddenly. Llovesi only had a moment to duck before the pressure became too much, and the great hunk of metal soared across the room like a cork flying from a bottle.

Llovesi pulled herself out of the water again, only to be hit by the powerful cold spray knowing flowing from where the door had been. Behind, she could see collapsed rock, dust was making the clear water murky, and two of the white, spiny fabricants had apparently been crushed to death beneath the boulders.

The water was now waist height.

_I have to get out of this place before it completely collapses._

She swam to the nearest wall, cursing at how poorly her limbs pulled her through the water. She was about as adapted to water as slaughterfish were to land. She pulled herself upright near another lever and pushed it firmly. The mechanism clicked, the door soared upwards, but revealed only a dead end.

She dove back towards another lever, this time on a pillar. Which lever opened which door? That was the puzzle she had to solve, before the water got any higher.

It had reached shoulder height.

Grasping slick ferns on the pillar, she reached for the lever and pushed. A door on the opposite side of the room opened and she threw herself towards it, splashing through the water like a child having her first swimming lesson. If there were any living fabricants they would surely find her now.

There was no flood beyond this door, and Llovesi found herself carried through by the rushing tide. Coughing, sprawling and shivering, she flung out an arm blindly, and her hand found another rusted switch. Pushing it slammed the door shut behind her.

She turned to look at it, not quite believing she'd made it, hearing the way the displaced water now slapped against the door from the other side. A large puddle had followed her in, but for now she was safe.

Then a large screech made her turn back to the corridor.

A fabricant was running towards her, horn lowered, metal claws raised–

–when a great axe came slicing through the air between the walls. The fabricant's mangled body sailed the rest of the distance towards Llovesi, landing against the cog door with a wet crunch.

More axes were now swinging in the corridor. Perhaps the fabricant had tripped a switch somewhere. _What strange experiment is this?_

The door creaked ominously behind her.

_Death by drowning or death by dismemberment. What a choice._

It seemed sarcasm was her last resort in this place. She had to get through, and survive. _If only I had some spell to increase my speed, to send me through like a breath of wind._

But she didn't. So Llovesi began to run.

She didn't really know how she made it. Perhaps it was the slick moss beneath her feet, giving her an extra burst of that much-desired speed. Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline from feeling the _swoosh_ as a four-foot long axe came hurtling perilously close to the back of her head. But make it she did, and as she neared the end she threw herself at the opposite metal wall, where she collapsed into a heap, bruised but alive.

_I'm alive_.

She laughed weakly, a little stupidly, but above all: with relief. Then she picked herself up, and continued. The corridor was less mossy here, and seemed to be holding itself together far better than the flooded halls below. For she was climbing now: sets of small steps that led her up past intricately carved motifs, strange cables, pumping pistons, and clicking cogs.

A small shower of sparks as one of the overhead lights burst was a reminder to stay on her toes. But, maybe she was past the traps now. Llovesi reached another of the doors, and immediately looked for the switch to open it.

However, as she approached, it opened itself as if it had sensed her presence. Two halves shot back into the wall, revealing a large room beyond.

There was a word for this, Llovesi thought distractedly as she walked through with Trueflame raised again: these switches powered by cogs, these swinging blades and these doors that opened by themselves. _Technology_.

This room was large and circular, with a long pole in the middle, and littered with the corpses of fabricants. She could hear the whirring of another mechanism close by.

Suddenly, something hit her in the side, knocking her off her feet and winding her completely. She realised, with a small shriek, that it was another mangled fabricant, its head hanging from its neck by only a few metallic ligaments. She pushed it off her, and looked upwards to see where it had come from.

That was when she saw the blade.

It was an impossibly long thing and impossibly fast too: a sharpened hunk of metal attached to a blunt arm that was running the entire perimeter of the dome shaped ceiling from an axis in the centre of the room. There was a balcony up there, sloping down to Llovesi's level, but the blade spun at waist height. She would be sliced in half if she tried to walk up.

Llovesi got to her feet and moved into the centre of the room, trying not to panic. _Start with the basics–where do I have to go? Then figure out how I get there._

There were two doorways, one behind her, above where she had come in, and another to the right, closer to the slope. But, even as she glanced at the closer doorway, the whole room suddenly shook violently.

The second doorway contorted dramatically as the corridor behind was bent out of shape by a new rockfall. A hulking red fabricant came staggering through the crushed passageway, howling and on fire. The blade caught it and sent it flying in pieces into the other side of the room.

_This place is falling apart._

Her options for progression had just been narrowed down to one. And she couldn't outrun the blade. But... could she climb past it? The balcony stood about an arm's length above her. If she jumped...

Llovesi tried, her fingers grasping at air, then metal. But she didn't have enough surface to hold, she was slipping... She clawed wildly at the balcony, screaming as two fingernails popped loose, then she was falling backwards, landing with a hard smack on her tailbone.

Groaning, straining, Llovesi pulled herself back to her feet. Giving up was not an option. This time, she turned to the axis in the centre of the room: the tall pole supporting the blade.

It was a stupid idea. It was a dangerous idea. But maybe, just maybe, it was an idea that would actually work. The pole was about as thick as her thigh, and looked to be made of metal. Surely it would support her weight. Llovesi began to climb.

She didn't dare look down. Not that the drop would be fatal, but another painful landing would set her back even further. She had maybe one shot at this, and she didn't want to lose sight of her goal.

Finally, muscles screaming, she was just below the spinning blade. She felt the power of it rotating overhead, and didn't dare go any higher. Instead, she clutched the pole, trying to stop herself from slipping, and counted.

The blade passed.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

It passed again, dragging a horrible screech from the metal walls.

When Llovesi counted to three again, she launched herself backwards, and caught the arm of the blade.

She had only a moment of brief, ecstatic relief, before she released how fast she was going. The room became a blur as she struggled to keep her grip, and the contents of her stomach.

There it was, a darker patch in the yellow metal blur: the doorway. It appeared again so fast it was as if there was a whole wall of doorways, yawning open and waiting to receive her. Tears flowed desperately from Llovesi's eyes, trying to moisten her drying eyeballs, only succeeding in blurring her vision even further.

She closed her eyes, and let go of the blade.

She was flying again–no, falling. Falling, falling, falling through blackness. Then she hit a hard surface with a bone-breaking thump.

It was a while before she dared open her eyes. She lay against a wall, both legs throbbing with a splintering pain, breathing in and out with long shallow breaths.

But she was still alive.

Opening her eyes finally, Llovesi saw that not only had she landed on the balcony; she had managed to propel herself down the short corridor to the exit. Maybe Azura was still watching over her. Unfortunately, both of her legs had caught her fall, and they were bending beneath her in way that was queasy and _wrong_.

Lights popped behind Llovesi's eyes as she dragged her broken legs from under her body. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she set the bones, healing with small sparks from her fingers as she went. When the sharp, dizzying ache had dulled slightly, she pulled one of her precious healing potions from her pack to finishing the job.

She lay back against the wall again, listening to the sound of the blade as it continued its deadly circuit.

"Bet Dagoth Ur wished he had traps like this," she said aloud, and then started to giggle weakly. Before she could help herself, she had collapsed into hysterical laughter. It had to be funny in some small way, because otherwise how could she make sense of the place? Who built a room entirely devoted to spinning-blade death traps, or a corridor filled with swinging axes? Either Sotha Sil really didn't want any visitors, or some of his tinkering had gone horribly wrong.

Her laughter echoed oddly of the metal walls, unnerving her, so she stopped. The almost crushing absence of any other voices hit her all at once. Dagoth Ur had talked to her the whole way through his citadel, plied her with hollow promises and hints at their shared history.

Sotha Sil was silent.

There was no Julan by her side to keep her going, as she had done and would do for him. The thought of him spurred her on again, but her legs were still too weak to take her weight. She collapsed back down, feeling all her bruises and exhaustion far more keenly now than before. She had to go on... but... sleep called to her, closed her heavy eyelids...

* * *

Llovesi woke suddenly later, cold and feeling that strange sense of disorientation one experiences on waking from an unintentional doze.

At first she wasn't sure what had woken her, then another large rumble shook the room. The ceiling creaked worryingly, and spider-thin cracks appeared in the aged metal above. Llovesi jumped to her feet as the cracks groaned and widened, spilling dust into the corridor. Pins and needles pierced Llovesi's feet, but she managed to stumble into the direction of the door, which opened in front of her. As it closed, the first of the rocks began to fall, and the walls and floors shook with tremors. But the door held fast, and Llovesi breathed out a huge sigh of relief.

Perhaps Azura really had decided to take pity on her champion, for the second half of Llovesi's journey through the Clockwork City proceeded far more smoothly than the first.

Not that there weren't hitches as she figured out the complex puzzles and mechanisms that filled Sotha Sil's halls, or setbacks as she had to navigate collapsed parts of the experiment rooms. Not that her legs didn't itch where they had broken, and her arms didn't ache, or her lungs burn and head pound. She was slow, tired, confused and alone, but she made it through.

The room she had rushed into as the blade room collapsed turned out to be a sort of vertical maze. At least, that was the closest description Llovesi could come up with for the mass of shifting walls and moving staircases that she had to navigate to find a path upwards to the exit.

The walls and floors moved on cog-powered rails, slowing clicking in and out of place, seemingly at random. They revealed the steps required to move on, or worse, pits of spikes tipped with dried blood. Twice Llovesi was forced to jump from a receding floor to catch a rising wall before a pit of spikes swallowed her up into its vicious maw. The second time, her body slamming into the metal with enough force to knock all the wind from her lungs, a fabricant had come falling from above. It had fallen pitifully through the air, smashing into walls and floors, before landing abruptly in the pit of spikes. Llovesi watched it as she rose slowly, then she turned away and continued to climb. All around her were the clicking of cogs, the hissing of steam and jumping sparks, and the crying of the dying fabricant.

She met live fabricants too, when she pulled herself out of the shifting metal maze. These attacked her and so she killed them. It was her or them, even if they were defending their home as it collapsed before their eyes.

She met them in the creaking hallways, with their artistically carved wall panels, then metal strings and cog-shaped doors. She encountered them in rooms that she was beginning to think more and more of as workshops.

One such room had her creating fabricants to solve a puzzle. At least, that seemed to be what Llovesi was doing. The corridor had led her onto a balcony overlooking a large room below, in which five egg-shaped containers sat on their sides. They were the same burnished metal as the walls, and large enough to contain a person... or a fabricant, as Llovesi discovered when she pressed a button at random.

The door to the container on the far left had hissed open with copious amounts of steam, and a slim silvery fabricant had stepped forward on wobbly legs, like a new-born guar calf. Llovesi had tried all the buttons and random, until the middle container had opened, revealing a door built into its flat rear wall. But it was shut. She pressed the buttons for the container, quickly alternating between the door opening and shutting. Fabricants flooded the room while the lights above the eggs flashed between green and red like sparkling Saturnalia lanterns.

Finally, either the machine had malfunctioned or she'd solved the puzzle, for both doors stayed open. The fabricants were still blinking in the dim light of the lanterns, cocking their heads at distant and approaching rumbles. They didn't bother Llovesi as she vaulted over the balcony and raced through the container.

The next room had presented her with a far simpler puzzle. It was a large room, with two platforms ether side. In-between the platforms: a sea of lava. The heat rose up in staggering waves, breaking fresh sweat on Llovesi's forehead, and papering her tongue to the roof of her mouth. But the challenge was simple. Cross the lava. There was another of the rusted switches on her platform, and Llovesi quickly figured out what the challenge was meant to be.

The lever was incredibly hard to depress. No doubt it was an experiment in strength, but Llovesi was not as strong as a normal Dunmer woman. She was stronger. She leant on the lever with all the power she could muster and, even though her muscles started to give, she felt the clicking of a mechanism being forced into action.

Before her eyes, a bridge began to assemble itself. Great metal arms pulled sections from the walls, and laid a path down for her to cross. It was perhaps the easiest challenge she'd come across. Which was good, Llovesi reflected, because she had very nearly been overcome half way through the Clockwork City. She didn't want to become exhausted again, before the end.

She was standing now in front of another cog door. The name of this one was carved on the frame in Chimeris, as with all the other rooms and halls she had entered. Some without even having time to look at the door.

But someone had also carved the name in Daedric underneath, seemingly as an afterthought, a more recent addition. And it read: _IMPERFECT_.

Llovesi didn't bother wasting time wondering what it meant. If she went through, she would find out. She shouldered her pack again on aching shoulders and, holding Trueflame aloft, went through the door.

The room was large, dome shaped again and almost empty. Almost, save for two very large centurions. Forget large; they were gigantic.

Llovesi felt like she should make some sarcastic remark to calm herself, but her heart wasn't it in any more. Clearly these humanoid creations were the final defence. Test. Experiment. Whatever you want to call it. Even from a distance she could see the way large clumps of metallic thread mimicked muscle and large metal plates mimicked skin and bone. Their waists seemed almost two small, and were counterbalanced by massive arms joined to the body by massive pauldron shaped shoulders. Just one swing of those fists and she would be pulp.

Llovesi pushed the image from her mind and crept over the floor like a bug.

Suddenly, one of the constructs began to move. It lurched forward, billowing steam in great clouds from every joint, great arms compressing and decompressing...

It managed one step, then collapsed in a heap on the ground, the impact shaking the walls.

Llovesi swallowed her heart, and lowered Trueflame slightly. Of course, the centurions probably were so old they would just break down. She continued to make her way towards the door. That was when the other construct started to move.

Llovesi waited, but when the steam finished billowing it took one step then another, gradually getting faster. Llovesi realised with dull horror that this one was not going to collapse. She realised it just in time to dive out of the way of its massive fists as they came crashing to the ground.

She rolled back onto her feet and dodged again, rolling backwards to put some space between her and the giant fabricant.

_Imperfect_, her mind said.

It didn't matter what it was called, it was going to kill her if she didn't come up with a plan.

It seemed to consider her from a distance, and then it started to launch great jolts of electricity across the room at her. Llovesi dodged this way and that, increasingly feeling like a performing artist–albeit one threatened with death if they put a foot wring. She couldn't attack it from afar; she couldn't attack it up close. So that left... Llovesi began to run.

She ran until she was right by the Imperfect's stopping feet, then she jumped, catching onto the Imperfect's descending arm and swinging onto its back. It groaned, a deep metallic sound, and tried to throw her off, but Llovesi hung on with white knuckles. When she was sure of her grip she slashed Trueflame at the cables in the Imperfect's exposed joints.

It took her several tries, clinging desperately to the gaps between the metal plates on the Imperfect's back, while it swung its arms at her and groaned. Then the cables began to splinter, small threads peeled away, the tension grew too much and the cables snapped one by one. The Imperfect swayed, then fell backwards. One of its massive hands found Llovesi finally, and pulled her from its back, but it was lying on the ground now, and Llovesi twisted in its loosening grasp before driving Trueflame into its flat, impassive face.

The fingers loosened, and the great hand came crashing down to the ground. Llovesi was dropped onto the Imperfect's chest, and she watched as it became still, as it died. Then, she stepped down from the metal corpse, and tried to walk calmly towards the exit.

This door, too, had a name in both Chimeris and Daedric. It read, simply: _SOTHA SIL_.

There was no hesitation this time; this was not the Temple of Mournhold. This was a strange and eccentric workshop collapsing in on itself, and Llovesi desperately needed to meet its master to stand any chance of escaping.

She abandoned all pretence of being calm, and ran through the door as it _whooshed_ open.

"Sotha Sil?" she called frantically. The room was dark; a single spark of light from a large, raised and damaged circular set of consoles was lighting the scene in feeble bursts.

That's why the Clockwork City was collapsing. The central control system had been vandalised.

"Sotha Sil?" Llovesi called again, more cautiously. What if he _had_ gone mad? Turned against his creation; condemned it to flood and burn?

Another burst of light and she could see a figure.

Darkness.

Light. And the figure was standing in the midst of the consoles.

Darkness.

Light.

Not standing. Hanging.

Llovesi drew even closer in the flickering gloom, a steady sense of sickening foreboding eating away at her optimism. Something was deeply wrong with this scene.

Then another spark of light from the strange cable, and the whole horror was thrown into sharp relief.

Sotha Sil was strung up like a slaughtered guar. His arms were splayed wide, pulled taught by thick metal cables on his wrists. His legs were... gone, lost to a pulp of dried blood and metal shards. Blood streaked his pale skin; skin that was like the underbelly of a kwama grub, something weak and unprotected that was never meant to see light.

The spark died finally, mercifully restoring the image to darkness. Nothing. She could pretend she hadn't seen it, because this was too horrible, too dizzyingly unreal...

Then there was a rumbling overhead and, one by one, every overhead lamp came back to life. But not the body in font of her, his misshapen face frozen in a final scream, his eyeball rolled to stare at the cavernous ceiling: stare at nothing. He stayed as he was, broken, alone, and silent.

Sotha Sil, her last hope for an ally, her last chance for an escape, was dead.


	19. The Face-Snaked Queen

**A/N: Sorry again for hideously late update. It was never my intention to move back to monthly updates, but life has been running at full speed lately and there has been very little time for updates. I don't want to rush what I'm writing (still feeling the quality/tone is skew-whiff) but at the same time I don't want to keep followers waiting. The good news is there are only two more chapters to go! Thank you very much to koryandrs and OnnaMusha for your supportive reviews!**

* * *

_**Chapter 18: The Face-Snaked Queen**_

Dead.

The word echoed in her ears, though no one had spoken it. It pounded against her forehead as she squeezed her eyes shut. Then she opened them. She owed him that at least.

Beyond dead. Destroyed. And with Sotha Sil's destruction had come the destruction of the Clockwork City, which had become as fragile and broken as his limp, dismembered body.

Llovesi reached out suddenly over the damaged consoles, for the cables encircling his left wrist. She tugged softly, then desperately, but the bounds held firm as his body swayed from the motion. Llovesi wanted to remove the example he'd become. But the crude display was as fixed in place as a statue now. Who could have–no, that was a stupid, naïve question. She knew _exactly _who had done it.

As if accepting some inevitable outcome, Llovesi turned slowly from Sotha Sil until she faced the door again.

Almalexia was there, Hopesfire in hand.

She'd been watching. For how long? Did it matter?

"Why?" Llovesi asked, fighting to stop her voice from cracking. "It really was you all along, wasn't it? Why attack your own city? Why kill him?"

She took a step forward, but Almalexia raised a hand, and suddenly Llovesi found herself fixed in place, every limb immobile as stone, her jaw clamped shut. Trueflame clattered to the ground, its flames winking out.

Almalexia's expression was unreadable, hidden as it was behind a green metal mask with tusks and a fearsome expression. Llovesi felt that the terrifying visage couldn't be far from the truth beneath.

"It is fitting that it should be here," Almalexia said finally, her hand still raised and her voice ringing clear from behind the battle mask. "You should have died in the city, died to the creations of pride and conceit. But you survived. And you found dear Sotha Sil.

"Turn around. Look at what he was."

Llovesi tried to move willingly but, before the unconscious thought could even enter her mind, Almalexia's spell was moving her, grinding her limbs and stretching her muscles into position. Llovesi tried to grit her teeth against the pain of involuntary movement. _Where has she found this power?_

"A shell of a god," Almalexia continued. "Hiding behind his machines from the world he helped create. I told you he was mad, and I truly believe it. Even in his final moments he refused to speak. No, even then he believed himself my superior–he mocked me with his silence! So I returned him to his true nature. A broken man. Look at me now."

Llovesi's entire body was snapped round like the flick of a wrist. Almalexia was pacing now, her bare feet padding softly on the metal floor. But there was no tension in her movement; it was not the Almalexia who hid storms of fire and rage behind calm, serene features. Every stride was filled with easy, dangerous, predatory grace. She wore this new stance like a glove–or not, for it wasn't clothing at all. It was as if every layer of her being had been stripped back to its core, and now the real Almalexia paraded in front of Llovesi, a blade in hand that burnt with electric blue fire. The real Almalexia, or what she had become.

"Perhaps you think me as mad as he," she continued in a level voice. "I am not blind to your opinions. To your... transgressions. This is the only way. It's all I ever had, and it's all I will have to hold onto."

Llovesi wanted to scream, but the empty air hit a barrier in her throat. She wanted to tell Almalexia it didn't have to be the only way, but the words would never be allowed to leave her. She knew then that Almalexia would hold her still till she had spoken her fill, then she would kill her.

"My people." She sounded as if she were almost smiling over the word. "They have been mentioned a lot over these past few weeks. What is best for my people. But looks how their recent devotion has restored me! What is a Goddess without her people? Ask yourself if the puppet king truly cares for their fate. _I_ do. And it was all I ever cared for. I was to be their Mother of Mercy, and I was borne into my role through fire and passion. I need to be strong for them. In the end, you matter little to me, Nerevar. Nor you, Llovesi, though it is not to you that I speak now.

"I will tell of how I tried to bring you from your madness: your attempts to collaborate with your old friend, the Clockwork King. But it was too late to save you. Your death will end Azura's prophecy, and I will unite my people again, claw back what has been stolen from me!

"Releasing the fabricants upon Mournhold with the aid of the Mazed Band, creating the ash storms–these were but ways to show my people they still needed me. Now there will be no more need for violence or dissent, for all of Morrowind shall devote themselves to me, the one true God! The puppet king will fall, Vivec will fall, and I alone shall be my people's salvation."

She stopped pacing and turned to face Llovesi.

"But first: you. I could snap your neck where you stand, but I think I would prefer another end. I want to hear you scream."

Then Almalexia sprinted like a flash of lightning towards Llovesi, her blade raised high, as the spell binding Llovesi vanished, dropping her to her knees as numb feeling returned. All this happened simultaneously, and it saved Llovesi's life. Had Almalexia been moving slower she might have been able to correct her charge to attack Llovesi as she crumpled to the ground, had Llovesi not been bound by the spell at all she might not have been able to dodge. But Llovesi was on the floor, and Almalexia was the other side of the room, curiously examining her bloodless sword.

Llovesi knew she had to be faster than she'd ever been before. She rolled, seized Trueflame, and raised it just it time to block Almalexia's returning strike. The flash of gold became the Goddess, and Hopesfire was pressing down on Trueflame, both blades sputtering and grinding one against the other. Hopesfire sparked not with flame, but deadly lightning. Almalexia pushed harder and harder, and Llovesi's arms trembled, the already weak muscles giving in.

"I can make it quick for you. Why resist?" Almalexia asked.

"Because I'm the only person standing between you and the rest of the world!" Llovesi panted, and the reply gave her the strength to throw Almalexia back.

But Hopesfire slashed through the air again, and it bit deep into Llovesi's side. She dimly heard Almalexia laughing as electricity careered through her torso, squeezing her heart painfully. She kicked out, felt her boot connect with hard muscle.

Llovesi backed up, trying to knit the wound, and get to her feet again. Blurry vision returned, just in time to see Almalexia launch a spell at her. The fire seared through the air, and Llovesi barely managed to dodge before it exploded into a ball of heat that threw her back across the room into Sotha Sil's consoles. She cracked the one she hit, and the light in the dome faltered again, sending Sotha Sil's gaunt face above into garish relief.

Almalexia paused, and Llovesi used the brief power outage to slash at the Goddess's unprotected torso.

The Goddess quickly proved why she didn't bother with armour: catching Trueflame with Hopesfire and using Llovesi's momentum against her, throwing her off balance.

But the brief moment of instability had shocked her, and Llovesi caught her glancing at a sparking light overhead before renewing her attacks. Llovesi dodged again as Hopesfire howled past her ear, and thrust with Trueflame. This time she caught Almalexia with a blow on one of her pauldrons, hard enough to dent the metal.

Almalexia paused to tear the armour off, revealing a golden shoulder bruised deep plum. Llovesi seized her chance. The Goddess didn't seem to know what she had set in motion by destroying Sotha Sil and his console room. If Llovesi couldn't wear her down, she knew one thing that could. _The City._

She ran.

"Fool! Coward!" Almalexia shouted behind her. Llovesi didn't stop to check if she was being followed as she barrelled through the door and hurdled over the giant corpse of the Imperfect.

Almalexia cursed behind her, and Llovesi risked a glance backwards. The Goddess had tripped over the Imperfect's prone form, and was stumbling upright again. Her vicious grace had shattered for a mere second.

Llovesi sprinted onwards, breath tearing a ragged hole in her throat, but her suspicion confirmed. Almalexia did not know what lay beyond the Dome of Sotha Sil. Maybe it was the only part of the city the Mazed Band had ever taken her to.

Llovesi reached the next door and pushed onwards. This was the large room with the mechanical bridge. And the lava. Couldn't forget the lava, not when the heat rose of stifling waves from below.

Almalexia was nearly at her heels.

"You think to run from me?" she shrieked, and Llovesi noted a breathiness to her voice. "Nerevar, you disappoint me! Surely you noticed the way to the Outer City has collapsed? There is no escape!"

Llovesi threw herself across the metal bridge, feeling the heated metal through the soles of her boots. She heard a gasp of pain beside her as Almalexia's bare skin touched the scorching metal.

Llovesi had reached the lever. She pulled with all her strength, slipping over backwards as the lever finally clicked upwards. The bridge began to move.

Almalexia was still only halfway across. Suddenly, sections of metal behind her separated, became vertical, and receded into the walls on long mechanical arms. The Goddess looked back with an expression of horror, then down as the metal beneath her feet began to shift as well. Suddenly she was running and jumping, catching each part of the bridge as it soared backwards and propelling herself forwards to the next one. Her expression had changed to one of victory. Llovesi, who'd barely had a moment to catch her breath, turned and ran again.

_What will you do_, a small voice in her head asked, _if there's nothing in the city that can beat her? What will you do if you reach the flooded halls and she's still as strong as this?_

It was the hall with the fabricant-creating containers. The new fabricants were steadier on their feet now, and ready to attack. Llovesi dodged them as they loped towards her, and instead jumped up for the balcony above. She caught it firmly, and though her arms felt ready to give it, and her legs kicked uselessly beneath her, she pulled herself up.

Almalexia was among the fabricants, slicing this way and that with Trueflame. Electricity crackled, and the young fabricants went flying in pieces. But her hands and feet looked badly blistered.

"None may stop me, Nerevar!" she called. "When will you stop running and face me as the man you were?"

But Llovesi was already on her feet and running again, this time through the twisting hallways and silent workshops. She knew the path, when to hurdle the debris and duck under fallen pipes. Almalexia was growing more distant behind her, though her insults and oaths still echoed through the tunnels.

Llovesi knew what was next. The shifting maze. She ran through the automatic door and jumped, catching onto a wall shift as it started to descend. Almalexia appeared above her, but already she was slipping from view.

"You think to hide in there, Nerevar? It will be a short game. Come out, end this now. I have a city to return to."

Llovesi ignored her. She knew this maze, knew when to–_jump!_–to avoid spike traps and pits. Almalexia did not have the same advantage. Feeling braver, and getting her breath back, Llovesi wondered if she should reply to Almalexia's taunts with some of her own. But what did she have left to say?

Instead she adjusted her grip on the wall section as it back to recede again, then braced her feet under her hands before leaping backwards to catch another sliding section before falling. She could hear Almalexia panting loudly somewhere to her left behind the sliding walls and floors.

A tunnel opened below, and Llovesi swung into it and rolled through before it could disappear. From the sound of it, Almalexia was somewhere beneath her now and still struggling. Llovesi caught hold of a wall, and drew Trueflame with her other hand. All the while the maze's mechanism clicked and, if she had guessed correctly, soon the floor would open up.

There she was. Almalexia was frantically looking from side to side as the floor she was standing on began to click back into the wall. They were still about twenty five feet from the ground. Almalexia hadn't seen her waiting above. Llovesi took a deep breath and jumped.

A split second before she fell, Trueflame swinging up in a graceful arc, Llovesi wondered if this was right. Sneaking around Almalexia, using this unfair advantage against her. Of course the Goddess would have done the same thing in her shoes. Did that make both of them wrong?

Then she was on her, and Trueflame bit down deep into Almalexia's now unprotected shoulder. It slid through to her neck with a terrifying slowness, and the world seemed to move in equal slow motion as they tumbled down together.

Then suddenly Llovesi was flying backwards down a corridor. Almalexia had thrown her off, and was advancing towards her, healing the wound in her neck with one hand and brandishing Hopesfire with another.

"You thought it would be that easy?" she spat, as Llovesi struggled to move to her feet before falling back.

"A blade unawares and you can wash your hands of me?"

Llovesi could hear a noise in the distance, and somehow through the fog of building panic she realised what it was. She grabbed Trueflame and began crawling backwards, stumbling through the door that separated the maze room from the one that preceded it.

"Even now you try to escape me. Whatever you fought for in your return Nerevar, it is over. Whatever mad game Azura hoped to play, it has ended."

Alamalexia was raising her sword high. With one last grunt of effort, Llovesi threw herself back in open space, where she lay on the open balcony as Almalexia made her final approach.

"Know this, as I release you," she said softly, eyes only on Llovesi as she stepped into the light of the room and the walls rumbled around them. "You have fai–"

Then the blade came. It moved inevitably and rapidly on its grinding motor of death.

And Almalexia was thrown midspeech, her final threat lost to the grinding of metal on metal and the sick thump of impact on soft flesh.

She screamed as she fell, and it was a long sound.

Llovesi rolled over the balcony to the ground.

Almalexia was lying there, neck twisted from the fall, hands fluttering weakly at the great tear in her side. Hopesfire lay in reach, but she didn't seem to care for the sword any more as she sent failing sparks into the wound.

"It... it wasn't meant to be like this," she gasped finally, every word a clenched struggle. "Oh... it... it hurts!"

Llovesi hesitated as she limped over. Almalexia reached up with shaking fingers to remove her mask, revealing a face drench with sweat, pain, and fear.

"This is it, isn't it?" she asked no one in particular.

"It is." Llovesi felt obliged to reply.

"I was... I was just doing what I had to do... It was all I ever knew how to do. Because, if I did, maybe it would make everything we did okay. I... I'm not sorry for trying."

She gulped wildly, and pressed her fingers against her bloodied side.

"Why can't I heal it? Where has my power gone?"

Her eyes rolled, and caught Llovesi in their fading yellow glow.

"Please," she begged. "It won't kill me. I'll just stay here, in pain and torture. What have I got left? Don't leave me like this. You have Trueflame. Please."

Llovesi hesitated, her eyes straying to Hopesfire. As if some final understanding passed between them, Almalexia too glanced at the sword. Then she swatted it away with one last flick off her wrist. It skidded across the fabricant littered floor, the electric blue flaming dying out.

With what seemed her last ounce of strength, Almalexia turned her gaze back to Llovesi. This time the plea was silent.

Llovesi held Trueflame aloft, and placed the burning blade to Almalexia's throat. With sudden alacrity, Almalexia's hand shot up, but she grasped Llovesi's shoulder tenderly, with no malice, as tears clouded her eyes.

"In all that I did, Nerevar, it was born of love for you and our people..."

She took a great shuddering breath, and spoke her final words.

"Make it quick."

Llovesi drew the blade back from Almalexia's throat, and plunged it swiftly through her chest and into her heart. The Goddess body arched backwards, then she fell down with a great sigh, her body still warm but her eyes forever still.

Llovesi turned to the side suddenly and threw up until she was empty. Her mind felt strangely empty too, as if she'd become a hollow shell, incapable of reason or emotion. And what emotion could there be in this? No joy, no sadness.

Numbly, she retrieved Hopesfire and sheathed Trueflame. Then she turned back to Almalexia's body, searching for her way home.

But she didn't trust herself to take the Mazed Band, not now. Instead, she held the corpse of the Goddess close, so that when she touched the ring they were both touching it, both touching each other, and that way Llovesi willed herself back to Mournhold with the burden of life and death in her arms.

* * *

No braziers were burning in the High Chapel and the Hands were silent, waiting.

Julan was waiting too, his head bowed so that his shaggy dark hair fell into his face, his hands shackled.

He could have run if he'd wanted to; no one was holding him. But he didn't want to. He had to know, either way. Either Almalexia would return or, hope against hope...

There was bright flash of white light, and Julan jerked his head up. But he found that he'd squeezed his eyes shut. He almost didn't want to know.

Then a voice spoke, and he wished he could have raised his hands to his ears as well, because she sounded so broken and defeated.

"Julan."

He forced himself to look then, at the mangled body of Almalexia and at his wife. She was drenched in blood and covered in dirt, her clothes and armour were ripped. But by far the most damaged thing seemed to be her expression. Any trace of her humour was gone, her mouth was a grim line and her eyes were dark. For one awful second, Julan didn't recognise Llovesi at all. The woman he knew a few days ago had not come back from the Clockwork City. Then he shook himself, and ran forward, relief forcing out any other feeling.

"Llovesi!"

She offered him a smile that was so far from her eyes it might have never touched her lips at all. He stopped just shy of the dais as she turned to the Hands, who looked up as one.

"Your Goddess is dead," Llovesi said, and laid the body gently at their feet.

The Hands raised their arms, and Julan ran forward again, knowing he was weaponless but also knowing they would not lay one finger on Llovesi, not now. Not while he still breathed.

But they didn't touch her. Instead, they turned their hands to their own hearts, and bright bursts of magicka jumped from fingers to chests. They crumpled as one, coming to the ground by the Goddess they could no longer serve. They had killed themselves.

Julan jumped back, his eyes wide but Llovesi's expression didn't change. What had she seen, what had she done? She looked as if she'd aged a hundred years.

"Llovesi?" Julan asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft and hesitant.

She turned towards him.

"We should leave," she said finally. "To be found here would be the final worst thing in a very bad day. And I have some words for the King."

She stepped forward and snapped the chain holding Julan's shackles together with her bare hands. Julan was to busy wondering at her face to even notice how casually she did it.

"Llovesi... what happened?"

She was silent as they began to walk from the High Chapel.

"One day... No, actually Julan, I will tell you just as soon as we leave this place for good. You will understand. But... I need to understand first. Only then."

Her stiff posture shook a little, and Julan began to think she might be okay. But he could hear footsteps approaching. Surely Drin and Hler could no longer ignore what was happening in the heart of their Temple.

"We should run," he said, tugging slightly at Llovesi's arm.

"No. I've done enough running. Walk out of here with me Julan, and we'll neither hold our heads high nor hang them in shame. We'll just keep looking forward."

And so they left the Temple hand in hand, not seeing the stares of early morning worshippers, nor seeing how the sky was blue again. Llovesi had eyes only for the Palace and Julan, risking a glance sideways, eyes only for his wife.

* * *

**A/N: So I don't want to say 'on hiatus', because my updates are so spaced out anyway that it would essentially be the same thing, but tomorrow I move back to university/college (well, technically today as it's past midnight now). This is going to leave me with even less time for writing, at least initially, while I get back into the swing of things. I'm going to focus on finishing Heart and Stone, then Cardruhn however. One thing at a time. Thank you for reading this far! The latter part of this chapter may be rewritten when I get time as I'm not too happy with it (I stupidly thought about what I was going to write, forgot to make notes, and so forgot my original words). Even now I've forgotten what I wanted to write in this A/N! So I'll leave it here for now. Until next time!**


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